


Foundational Elements

by imyourplusone



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M, Pilot thru 3.10, Red & Lizzy heavy, filling in the gaps and starting at the beginning, mythology lite, rewatch fic, the ship as it should be and always has been
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2018-11-06 00:53:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 44
Words: 152,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11025162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imyourplusone/pseuds/imyourplusone
Summary: "There are foundational elements in our lives. People that form the brick and mortar of who we are."





	1. Cornerstone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic came about from the intersection of several things. First, the fact I've always been a little bummed I wasn't writing during S1 and especially the on the run fun. I had intended to do a rewatch of the show with perhaps a few one-shots here and there, but after 4.22 aired and JB expressed how the “big reveal” was always planned I realized we were talking about two different shows. Lizzington was born the second Red and Lizzy laid eyes on one another. The tropes, the songs, the glances, the “No” to her question. I'm guilt-free and perfectly fine with that _Rise Up Sixteen Candles_ ending being the ending.
> 
> So the pilot thru 3.10 rewatch is a go and instead of a one-shot series I'll be writing this fic along the way and we’ll see what R&L decide to do after that. Let's call it Lizzington’s Greatest Hits but also the in-between stuff my brain always makes up when the cameras stop rolling. It's simply Raymond and Elizabeth’s story as it once was and should always have been.

_Pleased to meet you_  
_Hope you guess my name_  
_But what's puzzling you_  
_Is the nature of my game_

* * *

He is a man of ritual. Ceremony. A believer that the symbolism of an act is as important as the act itself. Why else would he have made this unthinkable journey? The solitary walk across the plaza as one might make a pilgrimage, or more appropriately the final steps toward his executioner.

Turning from the security booth he takes one last look at the world beyond the bulletproof glass. There is a figure at the far end standing at attention looking in his direction. Just a blur from this distance but one still recognizable to him. Also a man of ceremony and he will remain at his post until the alarm sounds.

Any second now.

Placing the case at his feet, his eyes never waver from the morning sun. The jacket and fedora follow and he supposes this should be enough. A clear demonstration he is unarmed with the intent to go quietly, as they say.

However, the ritual calls for more. Dropping to the ground, he brings his hands up to link behind his head. The hardness of the marble cuts into his knees and he welcomes the discomfort as well as the coldness from the building already seeping into his body. Sacrifice should come with a measure of pain.

The alarm is piercing when it rings through the lobby but there is no reaction. It was expected. In fact, he has been waiting for this sound announcing the end of his freedom for many years.

* * *

The impact is surprising.

He had prepared for everything, each infinitesimal detail thought about, sorted, aligned until the plan was formed. All the pieces must fall into place to save her life. The traitor and the unknown enemy, these will be dealt with, but _she_ weighs heavily on his thoughts. An oath he swore long ago has declared itself and the debt must be paid.

She is the purpose now. Every move he has made since his enemy showed his hand has been leading to this moment. This meeting that will set in motion the destruction of her world.

It has played like a movie in his mind. What he would say and her reaction to this strange encounter. He thinks of the words he has planned as he sits in the box with the straps cutting into his wrists. Slowly, the pain eases with his forced concentration. Willing his body to relax he lets his eyes close as his head falls forward. He takes in the stillness and quiet of this transparent prison and waits.

The prickling at his neck causes him to look up, finding her immediately. She is watching him from the control room and he wonders for how long. There is no recognition, so far is she removed from the child of the past, but why the intensity of her gaze or the striking blue of her eyes should unsettle him he cannot say. He has strategized this moment for months and yet….

He could never have imagined this visceral reaction.

Perhaps it is the isolation of the box that magnifies each heartbeat a little faster than the last or the long slow exhale of breath that suddenly seems strangely loud until silence once again surrounds him. It stretches out second after passing second watching her begin her descent on the stairs. The opening of the door is jarring and brings him back to himself, reminding him to breathe. How very unexpected and he feels himself smile as she draws closer.

Their conversation will replay many times over the following days. Come back to him at odd moments. The setting of rules to begin this power play between himself and those that watch from beyond this room. The sharing of secrets meant to put her on edge. She will need this heightened state of awareness if she is to survive what is to come.

_Oh, I think you're very special._

The tone is a shock even to himself. Unguarded words in this most guarded place. He watches her retreat to her superiors aware how shaken she is. The unfortunate consequences of this terrible journey they will make together.

The box pulls him back and once again his eyes close, shutting out these present surroundings. His mind will not be quiet though and the stillness refuses to return. The blue of her eyes the only color he now recognizes in this grey world.

The impact is surprising.

* * *

"You've discovered something curious about your husband, haven't you, Lizzy?"

She came here to scream, rage at this man who threw her world into a storm as dark as this blacksite prison. Demand answers to these things spinning her out of control. Reddington, Tom, the box in the floor.

Perhaps if she screams loud enough, lashes out, it will shake his unflappable calm.

Her eyes seek out the bandage just visible under his collar. She has already lashed out and all it got her were more secrets. Slumping back against the wall of his cell she can feel the anger give way to exhaustion.

"How is your neck?"

No answer as he studies her, contemplates the unexpected question. His eyes drop briefly to the hand rubbing at the scar on her wrist, the nervous habit already recognizable to him.

"I hadn't meant to do that," she continues quietly, uncomfortable seeing the evidence of her loss of control. "I'm not used to resorting to violence to get the answers I need."

"Ah yes, I sometimes bring that out in people. Besides, you made your point, albeit with the tip of a pen but still."

That small smile playing at the corners of his mouth and she feels the exasperation return. Unflappable.

Well, she'd see about that.

* * *

Lizzy cannot honestly believe a week to the day Reddington strolled into the lobby of the FBI and surrendered would find her on his private jet headed to Montreal. Looking at the gentleman seated across from her with his easy conversation and devil may care attitude and suddenly she thinks there is no situation beyond his ability to manipulate.

_Damn him._

Damn his charm and relaxed manner, the attention to her comfort. Damn him for standing too close with his hand warm on her back with what can only be described as a familiarity that throws her off-kilter. How easily _Lizzy_ rolls off his tongue. She can't get over the presumption of it.

Also unbelievable are the two of them in this cozy restaurant as if they were a couple. As if she were his girlfriend from Ann Arbor and he anyone but a notorious criminal making polite conversation. His interest in her job seems genuine but the nerve of him replacing her chardonnay with this cocktail that does in fact taste like Spring. How incredibly irritating.

_Tell me my profile._

_Why would I do that?_

My god, she hadn't meant to whisper, but it seemed so natural, her voice dropping low to match his. He has issued a challenge, one she can't let go.

The satisfaction seeing his smile fade as her observations hit their mark feels oh so good. For once she has the upper hand however short it may be. Very short, apparently.

_What if I were to tell you that all the things you've come to believe about yourself are a lie?_

The words die on her lips and a response is impossible. Her life in chaos, Tom in the hospital, the mysterious box she has sorted through more times than she can count. But who is the liar and who is the teller of truths in this fable? She is almost afraid to learn the answer to that question.

The fire alarm has her jumping from the table, but of course it is too late. He is gone and without thinking she turns, takes his glass and swallows the remaining scotch before enclosing it in a napkin. _Damn him._

* * *

"The answers you seek are not contained on that glass, Lizzy, but I understand the thought process."

She had agreed to return to D.C. with him on his jet, not wanting to wait for the bureau's transport but had moved to the rear and turned firmly toward the window. A clear message she did not want to be interrupted, but this is what he does. Pushes at her. Throws her off balance. She doesn't even bother asking how he knows. The small clutch she carried into the restaurant now bulging with the stolen glass she crammed inside is probably a dead giveaway.

He sits down opposite her and places his drink on the small table. His jacket has been discarded and he fidgets a moment straightening his vest before coming to a rest.

"What answers do you suppose I'm seeking?"

Not rising to the bait, he makes no comment, and they study each other as the unspoken hangs between them until she can stand it no longer.

"Why you chose to include me in whatever game you're playing? Why you seem hell-bent on destroying my life and career in the short week I've known you?"

The pain that flickers across his face is unmistakable and gone as quickly as it came. Did she imagine it? It's hard to know for certain as the mask he wears slips firmly back in place.

Still, he does not speak.

"What do you want from me?" she murmurs, and maybe it's the desperation in her voice that finally prompts his answer.

"I don't want anything from you, but there are things you need from me although the reasons would be unfathomable to you now."

"Then tell me," she says, her tone just short of pleading.

"Unfortunately, we are only at the beginning of this journey but there'll come a day you will find yourself in need of a…..friend. Run your tests, Lizzy, do your investigation. The rest will come."

Not waiting for a response, he leaves her and she turns back to the darkness beyond the window, as impenetrable as the secrets surrounding her.

* * *

It's not a word he uses very often.

_Friend._

Labels are difficult to apply to those closest to him. Dembe, Kate, Luli and a handful of others he would list in his small inner circle. They have been through too many battles together, these soldiers of war, to easily fit in one category.

And now there is Lizzy.

He hasn't really given a name to the role he will play after this intrusion into her world, nor did he from the time before, in the beginning of it all. She was Katarina's child first and foremost, one in need of saving, and finally Sam's daughter. Their brief history made it difficult to identify what he really was in her life. It was more what she became in his. A promise to be kept.

He might once have called himself _protector,_ but with the traitor still so close to her, he can't stomach the thought of it. The acid burns bitter in his throat recalling the failure of that mistake. And so here he is with no description for his part in what lies ahead, yet that word remains in his thoughts. _Friend._ He finds the possibilities it denotes quite unsettling.

The end seems so far away it is difficult to imagine. Perhaps when they see themselves through whatever is to come, they too won't fit easily in one category.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to incorporate the 4.22 retcon of Lizzy taking Red's glass to run a secret DNA test. She'd definitely have ruled out a biological connection and as an investigator this would occur to her immediately. A clever moment tptb should have let her have back when it supposedly happened.


	2. Wicked Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Few things...
> 
> First - Thank you for reading. It still surprises me in all honesty. 
> 
> Second - Let's discuss this Tom situation. Although I'm following along with canon for the most part, Facob will not be getting a free ride on this fic as he does on the show so just know a spin-off is planned. One that makes a little more sense than what occurred and actually frees Liz to move on with her life. 
> 
> Third - Thought I'd list the episodes that are referenced in the chapters as we go. Sure we all know S1 by heart but a few later episodes may not be as obvious. Therefore we're at 1.3-1.5 in the timeline.

_Caught in a riptide_  
_I was searching for the truth_  
_There was a reason  
_ _I collided into you_

* * *

"Why _The Blacklist_?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Why do you call it _The Blacklist_? Why not _The_ _Redlist_? Seems more appropriate," she says with a smile at his obvious surprise.

Perhaps it's shock she would take this moment to chat in between planning the meeting with Wujing or the humor evident in her words. She's nervous, rubbing at the scar again, and he decides to play along.

"Lizzy, I prefer to keep a low profile even when dealing with a classified task force. No sense letting too much audacity get the best of you."

"You didn't think of it, did you?"

"Now look—"

"Doesn't matter, I suppose. Red or black, I'm going to find out what game you're playing at," she says with an arch of her brow.

"Not such a diabolical one as I'm sure you're thinking," but seeing her utter disbelief he erupts in laughter drawing the attention of those in the Post Office. Completely oblivious he continues, "Well, perhaps only a wicked game."

* * *

The world is upside down.

How did she get here? Far underground with a gun trained on her from every direction but somehow knowing she will make it out. His instinctive step in front of her not going unnoticed and she moves in closer behind him.

She is safe. There is no doubt of the outcome even as she reels in shock at the way he brings it about. Shouldn't she be afraid of him, but the thumb stroking along her back had calmed her, centered her to the task at hand. She had simply understood his silent communication like they had infiltrated a spy ring a thousand times before.

It should not be this way.

The memory of the cold chill sweeping down her back this morning crosses her mind. Looking up to see Tom watching from the window and how the fear clenched in her stomach like a primal instinct that rose from deep within until she brushed it aside seeing him wave goodbye. She no longer knows what is real.

_I believe I will always do whatever I feel I have to do to keep you alive._

Not from her husband and partner but from a complete stranger. She believes him. She doesn't know what to believe.

The world is inside out.

The DNA results and ballistics report both arriving on the same day must be a sign but of what she has no idea. She opens the letter from the lab she hired first already anticipating the answer. This is a formality at this point as she checks off boxes trying to solve the mystery of Reddington's entrance into her life.

Every interaction they have shared has in no way insinuated a biological connection but it had to be confirmed. It is as she suspected and there is no emotion as she sets the letter aside before picking up the second envelope.

The dread creeping round the edges flows in like a wave. It is as she anticipated. The redacted report telling her what she already knew. There is a box of lies and secrets hidden under her home and she wonders how long until the cracks break it in two.

* * *

"Agent Keen, one more thing."

She turns back from the door toward Director Cooper. Waits for him to continue but he is looking at her with a curious expression, drumming his fingers on his desk until he seems to reach a decision. Opening a file cabinet, he pulls out a folder with _Classified_ scrolled across the top.

"I appreciate you showing me these DNA results, however, you should know we have already confirmed the same result in our own lab," and seeing her start to speak he holds up a hand. "Your DNA is on file as you know and, yes, you would have been informed. Your forthrightness today sped up that disclosure."

"Thank you, Sir."

She's not sure how to continue when he falls silent and she waits, still by the door, looking from his face to the classified document before him.

Another decision reached, and he holds out the file for her to take. "This is Reddington's case file. Some of it, I should say, as there are portions that are above both our pay grades. Have a look and see if anything is of use."

Taking the folder back to her desk she is surprised how thin it is. She would have expected reams of paper not these few sheets and can't help but wonder what is contained in the portion they are not privy to. With a shrug of her shoulders she locks the file in her desk since there is no time to look at it until after the Lorca trial.

* * *

_She can handle herself._

He repeats it over and over to himself. She is smart, capable. Why else would he have involved her in the Wujing assignment. He found it impossible not to put the challenge before her and she met it in every way.

She is…astonishing. Something he was already aware of but there is just so much one can truly understand about a person without meeting them.

He wills Dembe to drive the car faster to the cabin hidden in the woods. Desperately hopes the slow, methodical nature of this killer will give him the extra time needed to save her.

It seems to last forever. The drive down the dirt road, the silent walk to the cabin only to find it empty. He makes no move to follow Dembe back out into the night in search of the Stewmaker whose car is parked up the road. He must be here somewhere but where is Lizzy….

He is frozen to the spot staring into the chemical mélange while his throat tightens, cutting off his airway. The sound of rustling at the door brings him back and has him turning to move out of view. It is all he can do not the leap forward as she is dropped into the wheelchair, but he waits for the moment to act, letting his instincts take over.

As her eyes meet his, he brings a finger to his lips then extends his palm out toward her. Patience. Just a few seconds more. That is all she needs knowing he is close by and her head drops into unconsciousness. He is thankful for it.

* * *

The world is spinning too fast.

She wakes with a start and sits up to catch her breath, fighting off the dizziness pressing in. The sensation of Tom's hands around her throat is so real she is shocked her lungs fill with air. The nausea eventually begins to fade as does the sensation of falling, but she doesn't move for what seems a long time. Tom is asleep next to her and she is glad her nightmare did not wake him. She doesn't want him in her thoughts right now.

Later in the morning when he wakes her, she plays the part or at least tries to. Attempts to smile, respond normally to the adoption plans but she is screaming inside. It is all she can do not to bolt out the door for her first day back to work after she was taken.

Days have passed and there has been no word from Reddington since the ambulance drove away leaving him in the distance. The man who saved her life, whose face she first saw when regaining consciousness.

_Hello, Lizzy._

His touch so gentle, like a whisper across her skin. _You're going to be fine_ and with the feel of his hand on her hair she was able to close her eyes. Imagine herself anywhere but that terrible place.

She was grateful, of course she was, but later when the ugliness of the scene caught up to her, she uttered the words that can't be retrieved. _You're a monster._

With a shake of her head she attempts to clear her thoughts and resume the task at hand. Figure out just what game this criminal is playing.

It is still fairly early and thankfully she is first in the office and her feet pick up their pace as she nears her desk, switching on lights along the way. She has thought of little else these last few days and her hands fumble with the key as she unlocks the drawer where the classified file waits.

There is not much in it she doesn't already know. His family are listed, the wife and daughter now in protective custody, the events of that Christmas Eve described in a detached, clinical manner. A few records from his time in the Navy but she feels certain the missing information pertains to his time in Naval Intelligence.

Finally she reaches the last page. A medical form filled out by the physician who inserted the tracking chip the day of his surrender. Just standard information but a passage at the bottom catches her eye.

" _Extensive scarring to the upper back. Appears secondary to third degree burns. Subject refuses to answer inquiry into past injury."_

Her vision blurs and she looks up focusing on the wall at the furthest end of her office before looking once more to the document. She reads the words countless times until they finally sink in and with a trembling hand she closes the file.

The fleeting image of a wall of flame invades her thoughts but she won't think of that now. She pushes it back into the recesses of her mind. There is just so much she can bear.

But she does allow her mind to take her back to the cabin. The horrors playing out behind her where she could not see. She recalls how he had turned the wheelchair away from the scene before he dealt with this disposer of lives.

_A farmer comes home one day to find that everything that gives meaning to his life is gone..._

What is this strange and painful story? Whose mind became knotted and twisted with loss? Whose suffering became complicated?

_It is now he who burns…._

She had called him a monster but he is damaged like herself, in ways she cannot wholly understand. He told her he is here for unfathomable reasons, because of her father. So many unanswered questions but all she really knows with certainty is this feeling he was there in the blaze with her, the one from a childhood nightmare. Somehow they made it out of hell with the scars to prove it only she went to Sam in Nebraska and Red carried it with him around the globe.

The world is on fire.

* * *

"Lizzy, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

He has kept his distance, knowing instinctively she needed a break from all the chaos surrounding her. That part of this chaos emanates from her own home is difficult to accept. Difficult to let it go for the present with the knowledge that waiting is sometimes just as important as the battle.

So he retreated until she was ready while he fought the urge to leave just for a few days to clear his head and had actually boarded the jet for a trip to Gibraltar only to tell Edward to stop as they rolled toward the runway. He could not leave until he heard from her but with all she had been through he couldn't find it within himself to instrude. The irony of this after he had essentially barged into her life did not escape his notice.

She doesn't respond to his forced cheerfulness and he tries again. Quieter this time, the concern obvious in his voice.

"Lizzy? Are you alright?"

"Where are you?"

There is something in her tone he can't quite place. These little nuances are still new to him and he thinks how much there is to learn about her. Wonders if he will ever have the chance to really know her.

"At the moment I'm in a delightful little bakery near Capitol Hill, if you can believe it. Once you get past the political vibe it's really quite pleasant and they do a banana nut muffin—"

"So you're still close by?" she interjects with what sounds very much like relief.

"I am indeed. Lizzy, is there something—"

Again she cuts him off before he can ask what is wrong. She doesn't want the question posed, has no real answer to offer. Really can't understand why she needed to make this call since she is not prepared for a conversation regarding the contents of his file and has no idea when or if she ever will be.

There was simply the need to know where he is. If he were near to her or on another continent.

"Today is my first day back after…."

It hangs there a moment until she continues, her voice a little harder than before, a little more controlled. "Well, I suppose I'll see you when we have a new case. Goodbye."

She disconnects and he stares at the flip phone a moment before signaling for Dembe to bring the car around. Something new to puzzle over.

* * *

The case comes quicker than he could have realized and here she is, Agent Keen once again. Neither mention the phone call, she needing to resume business as usual and he letting her lead the way. Doesn't want to push her beyond what she can handle.

Then an unexpected opportunity.

The missing NSA agent and her admission regarding the Fokin murder coinciding though completely unrelated. Perhaps it is a way to obtain the evidence she needs.

* * *

_Your future is arriving now._

He had wondered if she would come here after learning of the traitor's involvement in an assassination. If only there was an easy answer he can offer, a gentle way to reveal what has been done but he can find none.

What her reaction will be he cannot guess nor what his might be to her anger or denial. However, neither seem evident when she walks in. Just the tears tracking down her cheeks and the shock in her eyes.

The pain is acute. Hers as well as his own. It hangs in the room like a shadow as the light fades through the tree outside the window. He stares toward it long after darkness has fallen. After Newton quietly switches on a lamp allowing a soft glow to fill the room.

Her shattered expression is more than he can take and he'd had to fight the urge to grasp her hand when her fingers brushed his own. Perhaps they just need the silence, to let things settle.

She doesn't know why she is there.

There is something about the apartment that drew her back. Hidden treasures tucked among the clutter of books and manuscripts but that can't be the only reason as she sits with him. Let's him refill her glass once or twice, neither speaking. If she thought it through it would be that infuriating calm that annoys her so often, but she needs it now. Needs to hold onto something before she breaks apart. 

Finally, she is ready. He's been waiting for her to begin it and turns toward her when she starts to speak.

"You said the answers I seek were not contained on the glass? You were right."

"Yes."

Nothing more. He's still waiting for her.

"But the answers I need pertain to…the file?"

No mention of the traitor and he is glad for it. He finds it difficult to say his name as does she in this moment it seems. But eventually they will have to. One must name the enemy to defeat it.

"In part, yes," he says carefully choosing his words, still unsure where the conversation will lead.

"I'm not ready to hear what it is," is her whispered reply.

"Then we can sit here, Lizzy, and nothing more. I would caution you to be very careful of your surroundings. Things are not as they seem."

The chill returns to runs down her spine. The same sensation as the morning her husband watched from the window. With a shake of her head she relaxes back onto the sofa.

It is easy to block her troubled thoughts in this peaceful apartment but eventually the outside world won't let her be. Without a word she removes his scotch glass from her bag and places it on the table before her.

He watches her movements without speaking and follows her with his eyes until she's almost to the door. How desperately he wants her to stay, to never go back there, but so much of this is out of his control.

"Be safe, Lizzy."

The only words he can think of in this impossible moment. She turns back and nods, acknowledging the hidden warning.

The muscle jumping in his jaw is the only sign of the turmoil within. The helplessness knowing it is in her hands as she exits the apartment.

_Your future is arriving._

Their paths are linked now and for the life of him he has no idea what the future has in store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See how easy and quick it is to do a DNA test and still leave the mystery of why Red came into her life? This should have been resolved first thing. Why dumb down the task force? I've never understood this. 
> 
> This also relates to Red's scars noted in the FBI file. I love that S1 finale reveal but in truth Liz should know this information early on and I like her knowing it. It's something she can come back to at different times as she's figuring out who Red really is.


	3. The Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and kudos. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Timeline 1.6-1.7

_Fire and ice, all in between_  
_Of this world, and all unseen_  
_No one knows just why we're here  
_ _Embrace the doubt and face the fear_

* * *

Shipping is his business, but art and music….these reside in that part of him that might be called a soul.

The uncrating is a slow and methodical process so as not to damage the priceless painting within but he is anxious for it. Paces behind his employees and waves Newton away when several calls come through. There is something about the first time one sees a masterpiece and he won't be distracted. Finally, the last protective layer is peeled away and it is more than he imagined.

_The Storm on the Sea of Galilee_

He had attempted to track information regarding the heist and its current whereabouts through the years. Has actually stood in the museum where the empty frames still hang but nothing, not a whisper of the stolen Rembrandt all this time until the offer to broker the deal came to him unexpectedly.

At last, the secret provenance is known and for a few days, at least, it will reside in his possession before its journey across the ocean.

Strange now that it's here, he finds himself returning to it. Standing to the left or right, and can already discern the effects of the morning or evening light on the greens and grays. Fourteen men and he studies them all, wanting to decipher each expression in the face of the tumult.

He is aware of the biblical story. The raging storm when all seemed lost before a miracle calmed the waters. He has never believed in the miraculous but he understands peril. This he knows very well.

The pressure is building. He can sense it in the atmosphere, that quiet intensity before all hell breaks loose.

Lizzy and the danger surrounding her. The traitor in custody even now. The woman and a bomb.

It is the convergence of these forces that brings him back to this room time and again to gaze at the ancient canvas. The ship on the crest of a mighty wave. The wind and water at war with one another. Who will survive the tempest and who will end up broken on the rocks? He searches for an answer but the storm keeps its secrets.

* * *

He sees her before she is aware of his presence. She is alone on the steps of the gazebo and even from this distance the tears and brokenness are apparent. It wrings the air from his chest. There is no way to take back this burden from her or the terrible things she will have to learn before it is all said and done.

The minutes tick away as he stands on the sidewalk looking in her direction like a rock in the middle of a stream with the passersby flowing round him. It is with some effort that he takes the first step.

They are quiet after he sits until finally she says it out loud, this thing that cannot be. The link between her husband and the women. A life in ruins and nowhere to go so she came to him.

Her pain bears down on him like the deepest ocean. The same shattered expression as when she came to the apartment and he picks a spot in the distance and this is where he trains his eye. Something, anything to maintain whatever control he has left.

What can he possibly say to her? The only truth he knows.

_You can trust me._

He takes her hand because to do anything else is impossible.

It's unthinkable but she can't hold back the question. "Did you surrender because of Tom? Is that what this is all about?"

But he won't talk of the traitor. Not here in this park with her hand held in his.

"I came here for you."

She holds on because she is drowning and he is safety to her. With no explanation of why that is so, she simply accepts it.

* * *

_That's my girl._

There is the smallest glimmer of hope that this could be over. The links established and he marvels at the workings of her mind in the midst of turmoil. Each step drawing her nearer to the truth until…

It slips away.

If only it were simple, but nothing ever is. He knows almost as soon as she, what with his assets as deeply imbedded as they are. The lover taking the fall for the unfaithful husband. How positively theatrical.

And so the peril remains and he waits helpless with the knowledge she does not yet know who the true enemy is.

Once again a retreat to what is now familiar. The painting that calls to him and he sits before it as another day draws to a close. He is as these men clinging to the ship forever suspended by the artist's hand. They must follow the storm with the miracle just out of reach. It is both painful and beautiful to behold.

Her entrance is expected as is her anger. Ugly words but he lets her say them offering little in his own defense. It would serve no purpose today and he simply doesn't have the energy for it.

Her final statement cuts right through him.

_Go to hell._

He's already there.

* * *

Looking down she's not surprised to see _Nick's Pizza_ again displayed on her phone and somehow resists the urge to hurl it against the wall. She hasn't answered in days and days.

Time spent trying to forget and get back to a normal routine. The anger simmers there under the surface and she uses it, draws strength from it as she plows through the week following Tom's interrogation. It was Reddington all along. She doesn't look any further than the confession of this supposed lover, just packs the case file away and turns her attention elsewhere. If she can only get back to what is familiar then it will all right itself.

But there is no normal where Reddington is concerned.

_Agent Keen, I have a tip. You're a winter, not an autumn. Stop wearing olive._

_How the hell…._

She waits for Ressler to move out of earshot before grabbing his arm and pulling him to the side of the tailor's shop with enough force they end up banging into a clothes rack.

"Careful, Lizzy. The suits are an innocent bystander in this war," he says, reaching out to steady her.

"How did you know what color I'm wearing today? Don't say it, I don't even want to know."

She's positively fuming and he thinks it's best to tread carefully, but alas he's never chosen the safest route.

"Nothing so nefarious, I assure you. I receive a daily brief regarding the comings and goings of the Post Office that includes an assortment of some very nice 8x10's. I must say you are a colorless lot—"

"You're surveilling an FBI black site? Reddington, for god's sake-"

"I've always found it is best to know who's at the party before making an entrance. Now, Dembe and I are going for tea. You're welcome to join and Ressler too, I suppose, if you insist," is his matter of fact reply.

_My god,_ she thinks. _He's enjoying himself._

He has brought his arm up to drape over the rack like he hasn't a care in the world. Plus, that stupid smile is back as well as something else. As if he's accepted her anger as a challenge.

With a roll of her eyes she stalks away attempting to navigate her way through the crowded workroom with as much grace as possible, feeling sure he is watching her retreat.

If she just keeps moving, she'll get through this. There are lives at stake and that is more important than her anger.

_You'd look positively radiant in a Guayabera dress._

Keep walking. What's the next step? He's sorry she's upset with him. She doesn't care and will ignore the trace of pain in his voice. It means nothing, she tells herself.

If only that were true.

* * *

He _is_ sorry but there is nothing to do but continue on despite this setback. His ability to compartmentalize has served him well through the years and this is no different.

They must find a way to get past this, to work together. Not just for the present case but for the reason he is here, the one she won't acknowledge at present. He will wait for the next opportunity but in the meantime….

_I'm not a gumball machine, Lizzy. You don't get to just twist the handle whenever you want a treat._

He can't help but smile when he hangs up on her. Can almost see her pull back, staring in surprise at the phone in her hand. Yes, he understands her anger, but there's just so much grief a criminal can take from the FBI.

Perhaps that's why he's waiting for her at the close of her case. To put the choice in her hands and make sure she knows it.

"I'm not going to beg you to allow me the privilege of helping you. So say the word, and I'm gone."

What exactly he'll do if she does tell him to leave he's not sure. At her obvious hesitation he hopes he won't have to find out.

"Tell me to go, Lizzy."

She can't do it. Her opportunity to rid herself of this intrusion in her life but the words die on her lips and with a promise he'll see her tomorrow he turns away.

Why couldn't she tell him to go? Is it the vague sense of unease that still hangs over her? Not just in regards to Reddington but how her thoughts keep returning to the box that was hidden in her floor.

She can keep telling herself it wasn't placed there by Tom but she has no answer for how he came to find it in the first place. And now here is a man promising her answers to questions she doesn't know to ask.

His car turns the corner and she watches him disappear into the darkness. This man who brings her pastries but who also understands burning the world down to protect the one person they care about.

A man of extremes and one who makes her head spin.

* * *

Another sleepless night. They are finding her more frequently these days.

Sneaking downstairs she rummages around the refrigerator before remembering the pastries she had stuffed in her briefcase. The bag is a little crushed and she admits to being dubious about the guava but they are indeed a treat. Just like he said and without thinking she picks up her phone.

"Lizzy, this is a surprise."

He answers so quickly it seems sleep is eluding him as well.

"Are you going to hang up on me again?"

His soft chuckle makes her smile despite herself.

"I highly doubt it. Is there anything—"

"You were correct about the guava."

He's not sure what he expected her to say but it surely wasn't this and he is more than intrigued. She is one surprise after another and especially after one in the morning.

"I'm happy you enjoyed the pastelitos. If you ever get a hankering for more, I've discovered a wonderful little Cuban bakery nearby."

Several seconds pass before she responds and he wonders if she is thinking it over or simply eating.

"Have Dembe text me the information."

She's gone again but still he whispers _goodnight Lizzy_ before closing the phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just leaving this here. In 1.7 Red brings Lizzy pastelitos from his trip to Cuba and she doesn’t tell him to go. Jump ahead to 3.23 and Facob makes a reference to those pastelitos that she loves. Therefore Lizzy fake died, went to Cuba and ate pastries that reminded her of Red.


	4. Incursion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline 1.8 - 1.10
> 
> Thanks for reading!

_Understand what we don't know_  
_This might pass_  
_This might last_  
_This may grow_

* * *

The succession of events that leads him back to the box comes as no surprise. In fact, he has been waiting for it.

There is an order to the universe that he's noticed through the years. How it tilts to and fro like a pendulum between dark to light, terror to calm and back again. The way it will occasionally mete out some measure of justice all on its own.

He felt the darkness close around him as Sam drew his last breath. It is right that it should be so, even with the spoken and unspoken passing between the two old friends. The understanding of what must occur to ensure she would not learn what had been hidden. Sam's impatience to end his suffering. The nod of assent before the act was committed.

Even so.

The universe bore witness to it and recompense will be expected. Perhaps there is no connection and it is just a scattering of random events but somehow he knows he will settle this debt with blood.

As will the traitor if he has anything to say about it. Of course he knew the husband was close by that day and it could not be ignored. Not with Sam's death weighing heavily on him. It was time to send a message. Nothing more than a chat between two strangers, both actors playing the part, but it was enough. The moment of reckoning is drawing closer.

* * *

It happens so quickly there is no time to think and once again he lets his instincts carry him. A slide down the wall as the bullets fly and Ressler drops to the ground in front of him. The retreat to the box they reach just in time, these unlikeliest of soldiers brought together by need. The criminal who must return to his former prison and the agent who must follow in order to be saved.

And so he sets about the task of saving Agent Ressler's life. Pressure, bandage, tourniquet, transfusion, all occurring in rapid succession. Anslo taunting them but he won't acknowledge it. Another mistake that has come back to haunt him. He is surrounded by them.

How much time has passed is hard to say but it is quiet now. Anslo and his men have moved away from the box to continue plotting whatever mayhem they have in store and Ressler has retreated into himself hopefully somewhere beyond the pain.

His thoughts will not be silent.

She is not here and for that alone he can feel gratitude for this one good thing. At home on bereavement leave following Sam and the irony astounds.

He hasn't seen her since they sat together on the swings. _Tell me some stories_ as the pain tore through him. Her grief, the terrible result of his decision. Sam's as well but the burden is his to carry, he knows this and it will be with him all his days.

Her voice shuts out the box, the blood and Anslo pacing in the shadows. He hadn't said much as she recounted memories from her past. Random moments, one leading to another and then to another. It seemed to help as her shoulders relaxed and finally a small laugh at a funny thought that came to her about a long ago birthday cake her father decided to bake for her and the disaster that followed.

Some of the stories are known to him but only a very few. Sam has raised her well, a testament to the impossible choices made all those years ago. She is stronger than she knows. She will have to be.

* * *

Running around barefoot evading armed invaders was cute when Bruce did it, but Liz doesn't feel much like an action hero at the moment and fights the urge to laugh hysterically when the image pops in her head. Well, she'll be damned if they'll take her easily, that much is true. She intends to cause as much trouble as possible.

_Use your training. Be fluid._

Advancing further into the Post Office, she has little or no news other than Ressler and Reddington are presumed down and what remains of the task force hidden in the armory. No time to dwell on what that means with the enemy around every corner, until finally a friend is found. Aram. At last here is real information, the reason for the incursion and why so many are dead.

They are here for Reddington.

"But why was Red even here? I don't understand any of this," she murmurs, staring at the grainy image of the occupants of the box.

Ressler obviously gravely injured and Red tending to him. She can't comprehend how any of this is possible. Aram hasn't answered and his discomfort is evident. Whatever it is, he does not want to be the one to explain.

"Aram, tell me what happened."

The intel leading to the order of protective custody. Reddington is a valuable asset after all and of course the FBI would want to protect their investment so they used her as bait to lure him back. The nausea rises in her throat and she fights the anger that follows. There will be time for that later as well.

_Be fluid_ because now she has a plan. Help Aram restore the telecom link, then she's damn well going to get to that box.

* * *

The eye of the storm. It won't last much longer. Anslo will eventually find the code or blast his way in. Only a few more minutes, a few more words spoken between the two men before what is headed their way finally arrives.

But there is hope. This is how he survives in his world. Hope of once more doing that which brings pleasure or seeking out what is beautiful to him.

And just then she comes to mind and their last case together. The trip to Miami to obtain information from the plastic surgeon.

She was quiet on the flight. Her mind most likely in Nebraska with her father but needing to solve this case before going to his side. He left her to her thoughts as she looked through the case file brought along with her.

Concentrating on a crossword he doesn't notice when she closes the folder.

"What's up?" he asks, catching her studying him.

"Nothing, I just need a break or a distraction."

"Well, then what's a five letter word for _irritatingly, smug smile_? _"_

Studying the puzzle, he murmurs, " _Simper_ ….no that's six letters."

Her snicker makes him look up again to find her highly amused about something.

"What?"

"You're kidding, right?"

"Lizzy, I'm always serious about the Time's crossword."

"It's _smirk,_ Reddington. Something you should be quite familiar with. Just look in the mirror."

And no sooner does she say it than it appears and she erupts in laughter. "Case in point."

He mutters something about a _show-off_ and resumes his perusal of the paper.

"You afraid to give me another?" she finally asks after several minutes have passed.

"Okay, how about a seven letter word for _charmingly influence."_

He waits as she thinks for a moment and smiles when she runs the letters through her fingers before guessing, " _Beguile_?"

"Hmmm, no that doesn't fit," he replies after a glance down.

" _Enchant_?"

"Good guess but no."

"Well, I give up then."

"Ahhh of course. It's _bewitch_."

He's smirking again as he jots something on the paper hidden from her view and when she tries to look he hugs it to his chest. With the roll of her eyes he knows so well now she turns to gaze out the window. He is certain she's wondering if he made up the clue and also just as certain that a flush is rising on her cheeks.

A commotion behind him as Cooper is led in interrupts the memory and he readies himself for the second act in this drama playing out before him.

* * *

_How many people are going to die here today, Reddington?_

He has no idea but he will try to save one. The only thing he can think of, cauterize the artery in Ressler's leg in hopes it will buy him enough time until they get out of this godforsaken place. Screams that finally give way to unconsciousness, but he is no longer aware of the activity outside the box until….Luli. And the seconds tick down so rapidly there is hardly time to offer a plea for the door to be opened. Too late and her blood is everywhere.

Time is speeding up making it difficult to process what is happening. Nothing beyond the quick scan of faces staring at him from outside the glass. He doesn't see her. Thank god she isn't there but the relief is so fleeting as Dembe is brought to his knees.

The door will not be opened. Ressler unable to respond and he is losing control. This is beyond what he can bear as the desperation takes over. But it is Dembe that brings him back to himself as usual. Dembe who always knows the words to say even when that word is _goodbye_.

_Harold, open this box. I'll give you anything._

He doesn't pray but he will pray this day.

* * *

The shot echoes through the cavernous room and he closes his eyes not wanting to be witness to it, but somehow it is a bullet from another gun, meant for someone other than Dembe. If only there was time to be thankful before his world falls apart.

The shadowy figures move toward the box and he leans over to get a better look because this cannot be. She wasn't supposed to be here today. It is not possible.

He isn't careful enough. Guarded. His senses not as acute after all that has happened, reflexes slower due to stress and exhaustion. Whatever it is, is enough of a tell that Anslo can read it in his expression. _This_ woman is different. She is now a curiosity and will be the next used as leverage against him.

A small look that passes between them may be all that remains, all that will follow. Then he gives free rein to the rage building inside. It is time to open this goddamn box and if it takes Ressler's life to do it then so be it. A life for a life. This is the way of things.

R-O-M-E-O

Oh, how the FBI enjoy their little moments of humor, but at least the gun is no longer pointed at her head. At least he can breathe again and he can't help the last smile before she is pulled away.

_I have to admit, Red, I was starting to think you would never come out of the box but then her. She was unexpected._

Of course Garrick would not let it go or ignore what he had discerned. If he can just get her out of the ambulance though. Even risking an injury is better that what will happen if she doesn't escape.

Sometimes she wonders how she understands him without words. This man she knows next to nothing about but one glance toward the defibrillator and it is clear what the plan it. She is getting off this ambulance one way or another and will come for him after.

Just a few seconds to let it charge and she will have to act. A few seconds more but he is so close, only inches away from her and the fear engulfs her. This is not how she wants this to end. With everything that has occurred since his entrance into her life, she has never wanted this.

If she just leans forward slightly and….her hands brush his forearm and rest there a moment. That is all she can do without drawing their attention but it will have to be enough as her hands give a single squeeze of his arm before grabbing the paddles. Chaos ensues.

* * *

The day is lost in a blur of pain and the unknown drug being pumped into his body. He can do nothing but find something within himself to hang on and wait for an opportunity.

It is not something but rather someone that he finds waiting for him. She is there with him now.

_Have you ever sailed across an ocean, Lizzy?_

They have not yet spoken of the sea. They should do that. Talk of all the things there simply hasn't been time for.

Another blow to his side spins him around as the surge of racehorses goes thundering by and he can see the exhilaration light up her face. Feels the pressure of her hand on his arm and the crowd fades away except for her.

_I want another meal in Paris, at L'Ambroisie at the Place des Vosges._

There is never a last visit to Paris, there is only the next. There must always be a next time and they'll walk along the river until an afternoon shower has them ducking into a doorway. _Lizzy, I told you it would rain_ but this is her plan all along he realizes as she moves closer wrapping her arms around his neck.

The prick of the needle again and his heart pounds in his chest beating with the music. They're at the Vanguard and it's crowded for a weeknight but it's wonderful as he opens the second bottle of wine. Nothing matters when the jazz is this good.

Voices surrounding him and why isn't it working? _He's resisting somehow._

_I want the warmth of a woman and a cool set of sheets_ and the exquisite pain when he realizes it is her sleeping next to him. The curve of her hip disappearing under the sheet that has dropped low and he leans down to kiss her bare shoulder. Softly, only a whisper so as not to wake her. Moving closer and covering them both, he closes his eyes knowing he'll sleep like he hasn't in years. He is at peace. The pendulum has swung back toward the light and he is falling.

_She was unexpected._

* * *

He was here, she's sure of it. Suspended from the chain that hangs overhead and his blood mixed with that of Garrick still lying on the floor. She is too late.

He has vanished along with Dembe and Mr. Kaplan and the restless night that follows is one of the longest she can recall. A day spent at the Post Office to begin the process of sorting through what happened but by late afternoon she returns home. She has had enough and it will have to keep for the time being.

The boxes from her childhood remain stacked in the living room and she continues sorting through them, grateful for the distraction. Picking up the stuffed toy singed by the fire, she turns her wrist to study the scar, but she can no longer think of it without her mind immediately going to his as well. This thing they share but don't speak of.

She tries to keep her thoughts away from the torture, what he must have endured but it is like trying to stop a river from flowing. If she could only hear from him and just then her phone buzzes. Immediately her chest tightens but it may not be him at all, only Dembe calling with news or perhaps wanting information himself.

"Hello."

Quiet. Tentative.

"Lizzy."

The voice she'd know anywhere and she can't help the sigh of relief that comes just as she says his name. "Red."

She seems to breathe it out and he will remember it, take it with him back into the darkness where she cannot follow.

"Where are you?" she asks, her voice already stronger.

"Gone for a short while."

He's evading and in a hurry, but his next words must be said before he goes.

'Lizzy, I want you to know wherever I am, whatever I'm doing, if you are in need, I will be there."

That is all but she halts his goodbye. "Wait. Just one thing, please."

"What is it?"

"I didn't know about the protective order or using me as an excuse to bring you back. I would never have agreed to that."

Not what is expected as so much is with her, but there is meaning behind it. This was important for her to convey just as his previous words were to her. Something else to think of later.

"I never believed otherwise."

It is time and before she can respond he offers one last caution and hopes to hell it makes an impact, "Lizzy, be careful of your husband."

The call is disconnected with no knowledge when he will return and before she could tell him to _be safe_. There simply wasn't time. She shouldn't feel this alone with Tom in the other room but there is no denying it. Not even to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You’ll notice Lizzy didn’t ask The Question since that DNA issue has been resolved leaving a little leeway for some additional conversation. As it should be.


	5. Sanctuary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline 1.11 - 1.12

_And I would sail back to you  
_ _I'll be sailing on your deep blue eyes_

* * *

The only name currently on _The Blacklist_ is Raymond Reddington. Well, Liz doesn't care what the directive stipulates, she wants no part of it. The FBI lured Red back with the use of her name, then ignored his warnings until it was too late. She sees no value in this manhunt and is only too happy to help with the case from her time before the task force.

She had hoped it would lead him to make contact. Weeks have passed with no information until this investigation prompts one brief call. It is as it was before the incursion. Questioning her, prompting her to look at the clues in a new order. Just a few minutes but it is enough to set her on a different track that leads to the killer.

She should feel something, at least. Pleased the case is solved but it is immediately overshadowed. Now there is nothing left to distract her as she sits at her desk after most of the task force have left for the evening. Really, she should be getting home as well but it doesn't feel quite the safe haven it once did. The empty hatch in the floor where the box was hidden finds its way into her thoughts with increasing regularity. Like something insidious in the foundation of her life with her husband and she can't seem to shake it.

 _Go home,_ she tells herself but still she is in her office staring into space. Nothing for her to do this late at work and no one at home since Tom is away for the interview he set up without her knowledge. And the anger is there as it has been all day.

"Uh Liz?"

She feels a hand on her shoulder and whirls around to see Aram jump back in alarm.

"Liz, I'm sorry! I called you several times but I guess you didn't hear me."

"No it's fine," she exclaims a little out of breath. "I'm jumpy, I guess. Anything you need?"

She forces a smile to reassure him even though her heart is racing. It wasn't until this moment she realized just how on edge she really is.

"Well, I haven't talked to you since….everything happened. You know, after Mr. Reddington decided not to kill me, we actually had a rather nice chat. Told me he was sorry for the inconvenience and had Dembe bring in tea before they dropped me off at home."

Honestly, it doesn't even shock her anymore.

"And how did he...I mean what did he...that is…"

She doesn't know where to begin.

"Mr. Reddington inquired after you," and because he knows she doesn't know how to ask, he answers the unspoken question. "He seems to be recovered from whatever happened to him after they took him away. I didn't want to presume to ask him…well, you know."

She does know. All these secrets he keeps, but she is grateful for this bit of information.

"Thank you, I appreciate you telling me. So it seems his employee was involved. Plus Luli being killed," she trails off, putting the pieces together in her mind.

"This whole situation has been—"

"It sure has Aram, without a doubt."

* * *

She won't be expecting him so late in the evening. Not after the close of her case when there is generally a lull for a day or two before some new name is added to the list. He tells himself to go home. Home being a safe house in Georgetown but nevertheless he finds himself on her doorstep.

He has seen photos of the house, even had Dembe drive them past when they arrived in town before the surrender. An unassuming address if there ever was one. He has never hated anything more.

Perhaps tomorrow would be best. Wait and talk to her when he no longer feels so unsettled, but he wants to see her. Needs to if he is honest with himself. The image of her falling from the ambulance door is the last he has. It doesn't seem possible but so it is and a lifetime has passed since then.

It has been a dark path leading him to the leak in his organization and the damage is severe. Newton gone. Luli as well. So much treachery causing so much harm and now standing outside her home the anger he keeps locked away begins to stir. This symbol of another betrayal and without further thought he opens the door and proceeds across the threshold into this house of lies.

Of course she thinks it is her husband and her words hang in the air after she sees him. The shock is apparent but she regains her composure rather quickly and for that he is grateful. The intent was not to frighten and in truth walking in uninvited has more to do with the traitor than anything else. Here she is, however, and he wouldn't blame her in the least if she demanded he leave but he hopes they may speak for a moment or two. Long enough to shake off this darkness around him.

He has had a fleeting recollection of the torture and the drug-induced haze that holds the memories at the edges of his consciousness. If he concentrates, he can almost capture the image of her, of them together, and it puzzles him knowing he was alone in Anslo's temporary prison. Whether memory or dream, it seems overly bright, too blinding to allow him to make out the scene but although it remains out of reach he can feel the warmth from it.

Perhaps that is what he needed tonight. A chance to capture that sensation once more.

Strangely she allows him to stay, even offering a seat. Now that he is here it is difficult to know where to begin and he fidgets a moment trying to get comfortable. _Does this mean you're back?_ He has no answer tonight for what his return will entail, but there is business to attend to. A mole within the agency that must be dealt with. More names to add to the list.

"Therefore we're back where we began. Me speaking with you."

 _If it were only this easy,_ he thinks. If only they could talk without all the outside intrusions.

"Well then, welcome back," she replies with a smile that feels genuine because it is and is matched by his own. Hard to admit but she is relieved he has returned.

"Where have you been anyway?"

"Out and about."

"Did you bring me anything?"

She asks it without thinking, simply caught up in the banter they have entered into and he chuckles at the remark before answering in quite a serious tone.

"Yes. The next name on the blacklist."

"That sounds dramatic so we'll need sustenance for that discussion."

"I'm sorry?"

She must admit to loving these little moments when she can surprise him instead of the other way round. It feels like a victory small though it may be.

"If you expect me to talk about a new case tonight, it will have to be while we eat. I'm ordering takeout so come have a look at some menus," she says matter of factly and rises to walk into the kitchen.

He's speechless watching her leave the room. Being thrown out on his ear, he expected. Staying for dinner never entered his mind and he can't seem to form a response.

Leaning her head around the corner and finding him unmoved she tries again, "Red, it's been a long day, a long month really, for you as well as me. Certainly we can share a meal after all this time."

That thoughtful expression he gets when he's trying to figure her out appears but it seems he's game if she is.

"We certainly may, Lizzy, and if you happen to have wine…."

But when they sit down to eat and he mentions the new blacklister, she shakes her head. "Not yet. Later, okay?"

He looks at her a bit curiously but continues on without missing a beat, "So tell me, what's the last book you read?"

" _Applied Neuropsychological Perspectives In Forensic Casework._ "

There's that coy smile that makes him chuckle and with a shake of his head he admits defeat, "Let's try music. That sounds easier and honestly more palatable."

She laughs a bit triumphantly and for a little while they are able to forget. A brief interlude before the new case keeps them busy for days. Their conversation is so easy it surprises them both and when he rises to take his leave it is much later than they realize.

As he is putting on his jacket she finally gets up the courage to say it. Something that has been on her mind since it occurred and added to Newton being named as the leak, she can't let it go.

"Red?"

"Hmmm?"

He has turned away and maybe that's why she chose this moment. "I'm sorry about Luli and….I just wanted to tell you that."

Liz had wondered about his relationship with his associate but whatever it was she didn't deserve what happened and he shouldn't have had to watch helplessly from the box. He's quiet and takes a little extra time putting on his jacket before turning to her.

"Thank you."

He can say so much with so few words, but his quiet response, the nod of his head is enough.

She follows him to the door to lock up for the night and it's as if he reads her mind. "Lizzy, you might want to keep this locked in case a criminal decides to barge in."

"I suppose that depends on the criminal."

It must be the wine talking is her only explanation for the remark and she waits as his laugh fades away before closing the door.

It is clear and cold but he takes his time walking to the car. He feels quite warm all of a sudden and doesn't mind this wintery night at all.

* * *

Finally, she understands as she sits alone in the synagogue after Red's pat on her arm and quick exit, taking with him the Alchemist's client list. It is over, another case completed and yet here she is again. Alone and delaying her return home. She closes her eyes, not to pray, but to simply…..be.

This place seems so far removed from the violence that governs her life. From the adoption and arguments that wait for her at home and the pressure squeezing tighter and tighter. She finds it hard to leave. How different from her first reaction.

She had arrived for their meeting a little late and definitely inconvenienced at having to drive so far out of her way.

_Is this really necessary?_

_Yes, it's a sanctuary._

Nothing more spoken on the subject, but she recalls later almost making an offhand comment about the current rendezvous point. Something to the effect of his moving heaven and earth in order to avoid the Post Office, but she held back the words at the last second.

That was it exactly, only not in the lighthearted manner she would have said it. He has refused to enter the Post Office before the identity of the mole is found. In truth he _cannot_ enter the building, not yet anyway. Something horrible happened inside that metal fortress, to all of them, but especially to him. Luli murdered as he watched helplessly, Dembe a second from death and only spared because of the distraction she and Aram created. A gun to her own head and his desperation she can't fully understand. The torture that followed of which he refuses to speak.

And so he needs a refuge and perhaps a little peace for the time being. Somewhere quiet but beautiful to repair some of the damage.

When she should be on her way home she finds what he must already have discovered. To sit in silence is sometimes a very good thing. To retreat until one is stronger is necessary and human. They probably will never talk of it but she has learned something about him, another small piece of the puzzle.

She has no idea then how much she will need that strength in the days to come.


	6. Crossroads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Timeline 1.13

_Ships are launching from my chest_  
_Some have names but most do not_  
_If you find one, please let me know what piece I've lost_

* * *

Red is only sure of one thing. A baby cannot enter that home.

Things between them being what they are, which is precarious at best, there is nothing to do but give her a case. She's an investigator, a profiler and he understands her need to work through the process step by step that will lead her to the answer. So if he happens to give her a blacklister related to a criminal adoption agency, perhaps she'll arrive at the right answer.

"Adoption? You want me to believe this is a coincidence? Tom and I are adopting a baby and you serve up an adoption agency?"

"Life is full of lovely little ironies."

They'd be here all day if he listed the numerous little ironies that ended with the both of them in this meeting and as pleasant as some of these get-togethers are, for now the priority is the adoption.

She gathers the paperwork and prepares to leave but stops and turns back toward him. “You're not going to make me change my mind with this case. I was adopted. This is very meaningful to me."

"I know that, Lizzy."

He keeps his gaze averted and she leaves to gather the task force together, but her words linger in his thoughts. It is meaningful to her. He is counting on it.

* * *

She's not stupid. She knows exactly why he gave her this case. The idea that there is something wrong with her husband, this thing he's been hinting at since the beginning so of course he would be opposed to the adoption.

Well, that's too damn bad because it isn't any of his business and his concerns don't factor in. That her hesitancy coincides with Reddington's is annoying beyond belief but it doesn't matter. They have planned the adoption for a year. It's what she's always wanted even though the timing has felt off, but surely everyone feels that way. It's just nerves. It will pass. This is what they've waited for and it will put them back on track. Just the way it was before she got dragged into the task force.

This investigation is important and she will solve it then move on with their plans. One has nothing to do with the other. However, after that….

"I think this will be my last case for awhile. I'm going to spend some time at home. Be with the baby."

"How's the case coming along?"

His change of subject doesn't faze her. She's grown accustomed to his diversion tactics and it won't work. Not this time.

One last blacklister for awhile. Certainly she can see this through till the end.

"You're arriving at a point of no return, Lizzy. If you have any doubts about your husband you can't go through with this adoption. When you get there, if there is even one shred of doubt—"

"There isn't."

She walks away and attempts to shake off the worry. Reddington, the task force and now the adoption. It's overwhelming. That's all it is.

* * *

The twists and turns an investigation may take never cease to amaze her. Who would have thought she'd need the help of the nicest narcotics dealer this side of Cleveland. Why else would she find herself at a party at two in the afternoon on a Wednesday but for Reddington knowing all the right people?

"Lizzy, how about a drink?"

She draws a complete blank at his relaxed smile. "What?"

"A drink. We can spare five minutes now that we have what we came for. Look," he says pointing to the counter. "There are plenty of snacks which I imagine will be needed judging by the aroma wafting in from the patio."

"Red, I don't have time for this."

"Fine, but let's grab a handful of cookies on the way out." His hand is stopped mid-air as she yanks his arm back with quite a bit of force before he manages to reach the counter.

"Don't even think about it. God knows what's in those."

"My point exactly."

She steers him out the door before he can argue further and he follows her to her car to open the door. However, instead of getting in she leans against the side with a thoughtful expression.

"Did you really end up hitchhiking naked outside Tuba City?"

"Indeed I did. Strangest trip I ever took in the painted desert. Got picked up by a charming medicine woman who brought me home with her, had me drink a special tea she brews for three days and other than a sunburn that made sitting quite uncomfortable it all ended rather well."

He's smiling at the memory, but she decides to ask the question anyway. Something about the timing of it had caught her attention immediately. "Two years ago?"

The smile fades as he looks back to her and the question hangs there a moment before he reaches around the door to give her arm a squeeze.

"Lizzy, don't let me keep you any longer."

She watches as he walks toward the Mercedes and soon it is out of sight. He never once looks back.

* * *

The Cypress Agency came to exist from events occurring forty years ago. The troubled child brought into a troubled marriage and sent back sixteen months later. What was broken before remained that way and so they returned him like a defective piece of merchandise.

The loss is still just as hurtful after all this time. For the couple as well as the son they once had and now so much devastation to wade through. Lizzy can't help but wonder how much damage existed before the boy was adopted and how much was caused by its nullification.

 _A point of no return,_ Red called it. Yes, he knew exactly what he was doing giving her this case. By the time the kidnapped women are rescued and Mallory arrested she is at a crossroads she didn't even see coming, making a choice that until hours ago would have been inconceivable.

The decision is already made when she walks through the door to her home and it is then she feels the tears on her cheeks. This house once invaded by a killer, the blood-soaked carpet that led to the discovery of the box in the floor, the surveillance cameras, all of it. There is something not right here.

Looking at the ultrasound image of the baby that will be born in just a few weeks, she realizes she cannot go through with the adoption. A bond that is not born but created by choice and there is a sacredness to it. She knows this more than most and it is why she sought this path in the first place and why she must be the one to stop it.

Tom has little to say and retreats upstairs but she can't bring herself to go up. She'd rather be alone as she attempts to understand which part of herself she lost today. Or maybe she just needs time.

Time. She's become obsessed with it.

This timeline of events has been running through her thoughts for weeks. The countdown to the birth. The year they spent working with the agency. The six months she's been an agent. Almost the same duration Red has been in her life. Her two-year marriage that she worries is somehow broken.

Two years since he wandered the desert under the effects of a psychedelic and she adds it to the list in her mind. It all seems connected in a way that she doesn't know. Some pattern she can't yet see.

It's after midnight but she dials his number just the same and as before he answers immediately. As if he was waiting for her.

Which he was. He's been sitting up with scotch in hand and the phone nearby. A sleepless night will follow he's fairly certain. Only hours ago he discovered the identity of the mole and dealt with Fowler himself. Too many troubled thoughts to allow for sleep and instinctively he knew hers would be the same.

"Hello, Lizzy."

None of the usual bravado accompanies his answer. Not tonight with what he suspects is coming.

"Tell me about the desert?"

No surprise at all. Not to her question nor the trace of tears in her voice. He realized earlier at the car that she made the connection. He forgets sometimes how astute she really is.

Instead of answering he takes a sip of the scotch offering enough of a pause that she continues, "Tell you what. How about you tell me a difficult thing and I'll do the same?"

They've done this dance before and there is a hint of a smile at the memory. _How about a trade? You tell me and I'll tell you. Tell me about the scar on your palm._

"A quid pro quo _,_ Lizzy? Alright, ask your question."

She had agreed that day when their roles were reversed and told him about the scar. No easy thing for her to do and here they are again. He cannot say no.

"Did you end up in the desert two years ago because of my wedding?"

"Yes."

There is a finality in his tone and her next question is asked almost simultaneously so sure was she of the answer. "Tell me why."

"But it is my turn now. What did you really call to tell me?"

Enough time for him to take another sip of scotch and let it burn a trail down his throat before her answer comes.

"I've decided not to proceed with the adoption you'll be happy to know."

He closes his eyes at the crack in her voice, the grief spilling out with nowhere to go. There's an edge there as well. Sorrow and bitterness. He is more than familiar with that cocktail and can envision her in some corner of her home away from the husband. Alone with the reality that the nursery will remain empty. No one to hold her close and tell her this choice that is killing her is the right one. God, he needs another drink, but sets the glass firmly on the table at his side.

"Lizzy, your pain in no way makes me _happy_. I'm sorry—"

"No, it's my turn again," she says in a rush, afraid the tears will come back. Afraid they will never stop if they do. "Tell me why. Why were you so upset about my marriage?"

"Because I had failed you," he murmurs so quietly she brings the phone closer to her ear.

"I don't understand—"

"I'm aware of that, however, there is nothing further I can offer you tonight."

He sounds as exhausted as she and perhaps this evening holds enough difficult truths, but she realizes her end of the bargain has not been met.

Her sigh is audible before she replies, "I owe you an answer then."

"Let's call it even, shall we? Take care, Lizzy."

And as unlikely as it may be, she feels the same right then. Has the same wish for him as he does for her.

"You too, Red."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember a few discussions in fandom about Red's mysterious trip in the desert at or about the same time as Lizzy's wedding. This has always intrigued me and now with Cape May it seems very plausible it was connected. Red occasionally takes a break from reality when reality is unbearable. Can't say I blame him.


	7. Plus One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Timeline 1.14

_Been searching everywhere for love_  
_I've let it go, welcomed it in  
_ _I wear the scars upon my skin_

* * *

There's just something about that Madeline Pratt and by the end of their first meeting, Liz is sure of one thing. She is not to be trusted.

In truth, she is sure of a few other things as well. Red appears to have knowledge of some youthful indiscretions, damn him, and since she has no criminal record the information most probably came from Sam. His history of petty crimes in no way rivals Reddington's but they must have crossed paths somehow in the murky events of her past. She doesn't even bother asking the question, knowing he'll deflect, as she did when he brought up the adoption and her  _suffering_. She brushed past his words because it is the only way she can cope at present.

All she wants is to work until she is exhausted enough to actually sleep and a caper inside the Syrian embassy seems just the thing. It doesn't really matter to her what the target is. It's the planning beforehand that she needs. Blueprints, guard rotation, codes, location of the safe. The multitude of details she can fill her mind with and let everything else go.

The palming of Pratt's phone is accomplished with ease. Her fictitious story about grifting with Frank is enough that she easily passes the test. Madeline is fascinated, Reddington amused, and Liz vaguely annoyed. She is sure there is a history between those two although not a recent one, and while she can't pinpoint why this should irk her, it is an interesting bit of information to tuck away.

What follows is an afternoon studying the layout of the embassy as well as each other. Three thieves with their own agenda. Liz never really knows Reddington's agenda but she is certain he would not do her harm. Pratt on the other hand is an entirely different matter. She has caught the other woman watching her once or twice. Her expression calculating and oh so cunning before vanishing behind her placid manner.

Perhaps it's simply a mutual curiosity but Liz intends to tread very carefully.

* * *

A more enjoyable afternoon he hasn't had in quite awhile. Perhaps it is knowing the mole within the agency has been eliminated or the appearance of Madeline with the offer of a job. The games are afoot as they always are where she is concerned and he is fairly certain it won't be as simple as stealing the effigy, but will involve something infinitely more complex.

However, first things first and that is the break-in. His omission that he will accompany Lizzy was on purpose. Less time for her to argue and more time for her to prepare. He was utterly fascinated watching her this afternoon. Going over plans, the questions she asked, her natural instinct for this type of work. A born thief. Sam had taught her all he knew and what was a game to a child became a challenge to a teenager. Nothing too serious had occurred and Sam later told the stories of the petty thievery with pride.

With a shake of his head he sets the memory of his friend aside and continues dressing. He must have all his wits about him since it seems Maddie has changed the rules at the last minute.

When he hears Dembe answer the door and let Lizzy in he calls down to her. Might as well let her know now that Madeline will also be in attendance. Something she has failed to disclose earlier and all the more reason for his presence at the embassy. There is no way in hell Lizzy is going in there alone.

His  _wow!_ at seeing her is quite involuntary as is her confusion at his own attire.

"What are you wearing?"

"A tuxedo," he answers with feigned confusion. "I'm your plus one."

She's already shaking her head. He is not part of the plan and neither is that tux.

"You can't get into the embassy."

It isn't whether he can get into the embassy, but rather making sure she gets out and he notices her nerves immediately. At the embassy she will be completely in control, he has no doubt, but here in his safehouse her defenses are down. She is worried as she should be. Too much confidence can lead to mistakes and he's made enough through the years to admit it.

"I'm going onto foreign soil to steal a priceless artifact with no back up."

"You have me. And I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

He doesn't miss the tears in her eyes but now is not the time to question them. Not the time to ask her how she is or tell her the grief over her decision won't always suffocate. That she'll find her footing again in time.

"I'm ready if you are, Lizzy. Good night for a heist," and her laughter follows him to the hall as he retrieves her coat.

"I bet you say that to all the girls," she calls after him.

 _Ah, there she is,_  he thinks.  _She's going to be alright._

* * *

Liz can't explain her sudden emotion back at the safehouse nor the tears which thankfully she was able to blink away. Her emotions are right under the surface these days but already she is back in control. No need arriving at the event with mascara tracking down her cheeks. They are quiet in the car on the way to embassy row and she takes one last opportunity to walk through the layout in her mind. The security door she must access, then the staircase leading to the saferoom, next….

His hand on hers interrupts her thoughts and she looks up to see their car entering the security gate. Dembe drives them onto foreign soil and they leave the protection of her government behind.

"The metal detector is just through the door. I assume you have the autodialer well hidden?" he asks while adjusting the cuffs on his sleeves.

For an answer she pulls back the slit of her dress just enough to show the garter on her thigh which holds the small device given to her by Madeline. The one that will enable her to open the safe and the one she hopes will not set off any alarms.

She smiles when he clears his throat and moves the edge of fabric back in place. There is enough light in the car from the compound that he didn't miss the glimpse of her leg and she's sure she sees him swallow before he continues, "I suppose the tango is out of order or they'll be onto us. Pity."

The car arrives at the portico before she can come up with a retort and it is a few minutes of going through security and checking for her name on the guest list before they arrive together at the top of the stairs leading to the ballroom.

Her eyes have begun their scan of the partygoers looking for Pratt when she feels him take her hand and turns as he brings it to his lips. She's a bit mesmerized as he plants the lightest of kisses there before linking her arm with his.

"What was that for?" she whispers.

"Because you look lovely tonight and the moment called for it."

They're blocking the staircase but it doesn't matter and neither notice the guests streaming round them. Finally she reaches out to brush an imaginary piece of lint from his sleeve and he almost doesn't hear her  _thank you_  as she turns for them to descend the stairs.

 _Stay on task,_  when she finally spots Madeline in the crowd. That is easier said than done. Two minutes to access the security door but why walk there when they can dance their way to the far end of the room. She's nervous again and leading apparently but she takes a breath and concentrates on her hand held in his. His other rests low on her back keeping her steady and she lets him lead the way.

"You're not a cop tonight. You're a criminal. And you're going to be fine. Just be yourself. The security door is behind you. Twenty feet on your right."

"Okay, I'm going to need a distraction."

"Be yourself."

There's barely time to congratulate herself on remaining upright when he twirls her into another guest before she is through the security door and on her way. Her movements are automatic, going purely off memory and adrenaline. It's almost too easy and that should have been her first warning. The door to the empty safe has barely swung open before the alarm blares and she curses herself for not trusting her instinct where Pratt was concerned.

"Son of a—"

Too late. She's trapped and in serious trouble.

* * *

_Dammit to hell._

Ah well, he has no one to blame but himself. He had a feeling Madeline had something up her sleeve. All his attempts at distracting her failed and when the alarm sounds he realizes Lizzy is in fact the distraction. The one allowing Maddie to steal the effigy herself which she is probably doing right now.

There will be time to deal with that situation later but for now he must find Lizzy and get them the hell out of here. As chance would have it, he also spent a little time with the blueprints of the building earlier in the day and has a general idea where they would hold her. Going against the flow of exiting guests, he sets off and sure enough there she is handcuffed to a chair but with fortune on their side as only one guard was left to watch her. All the better.

His mother always told him he was a born actor, usually when he had landed in trouble in one form or the other. She'd shake her head and attempt to hide a smile at his latest scrape but his ability to talk is way into or out of a situation never ceased to amaze her. He rarely plans these little performances, just goes with what feels natural in the moment and in this one an exasperated personal assistant seems to be what's called for.

By the time he's able to take out the guard, Lizzy's mouth is hanging open in shock and his hand feels very much broken.

"What the hell was that?"

"I don't know. It just felt so right in the moment."

In all honesty this sums up every great escape he's ever pulled off, but they are far from out of danger. Once she is uncuffed he pushes her behind and leads the way back where he came. If they can get out of the restricted area, they should be able to blend in and leave with the remaining guests.

"Whose horn I'm blowing. Reddington, I swear to god," she hisses close to his ear.

Her finger gives him a poke in the back just to make her point and he attempts a defense. "Now Lizzy, that was just a bit of theater. Speaking of, I once understudied two roles in a high school production of  _Much Ado About Nothing_ and wouldn't you know it both kids out with mono. I did well until the sword fight—"

"Shhhh. Hold on," she whispers as they round a corner to enter a wide corridor. The unmistakable sound of footsteps on marble echoes their way.

"We're about to have company," he remarks grimly.

"Come here," she says, grabbing him by the lapels and pulling him to the wall. "Put your arms around me. Let's hope the old sneaking off to the unauthorized section to make out fools whoever that is."

And suddenly he looks like he couldn't possibly enjoy the situation more as she brings her hands up behind his neck.

"I've heard of this trick and used it a time or two. It's generally quite enjoyable no matter the outcome."

God, she can feel his breath on her neck and, "Would you stop distracting me?" Except now his soft chuckle close to her ear is even more distracting as she tries to judge how close the individual is to their location.

"Reddington, why do I get the feeling the FBI got caught up in a little cat and mouse game with you and your girlfriend?"

"I think  _girlfriend_ is stretching it considering our current predicament. Lets just call Maddie a former  _close_  friend that for reasons I won't go into at present seems to want a little retribution."

"I can't possibly imagine why."

"That hurts, Lizzy."

But she's no longer looking at him and instead is peering over his shoulder. "Do you still hear anyone coming?"

"Oh, they went in another direction but I thought we could spare the time to talk."

"Well, that was anticlimactic," she says pushing him back with her customary eye roll before taking off down the corridor.

He follows behind as she marches with confidence through the now empty ballroom and on toward the exit where they are finally stopped for no other reason than being the last to leave the party.

"Sir, may I have you name, please?"

The question is posed by the guard on duty but before he can say a word she interjects.

"I'm on the guest list actually, he's my plus one and you're blocking my way."

 _My god, she is splendid_  and he offers the guard a shrug before following her to his car that is thankfully waiting for them outside.

* * *

"You alright?"

She tried to stifle the laugh but only managed a quiet snort. There was simply no holding it in any longer. Glancing over she sees the concern in his features as the streetlights illuminate the interior for a second before fading away. Dembe is winding the car through the D.C. streets and it is crowded on this Friday night giving her time to replay the events of their escape.

"I'm just imagining you carrying my furs and bikinis while the Algerian hits on you," and laughs out loud at his expression. One very close to wounded pride so she continues, "And it worked like a charm so I thank you. All in all it was an enjoyable night."

He's trying to make out if she's serious or not considering they were set up and did in fact lose the effigy. However, she appears more relaxed than he's seen her in weeks. Who knew a little breaking and entering would be what did it?

"Lizzy, I told you we'd make a great team."

"Yes, you did," she muses and after tonight she can see the possibility of it. That it really isn't such a bad thing after all or at least it has its moments.

He hears her soft laugh a few more times before they reach the front of his brownstone and he smiles each time. After all she has been through it is wonderful to hear. When he helps her from the car, he links his arm through hers with the intent to walk with her.

"I'm just up the block. You don't have to bother."

"Walking with you is never a bother and in lieu of seeing you home, I can at least see you to your car."

But she really is just up the block and within a minute they are at her car. Once the door is open she takes his hand to have a look with the light from inside.

"Your hand is swollen. You'll need to ice it."

"I've had worse."

"Yes, I'm sure you have. Ice it anyway, okay?"

"If you wish." He shifts his weight, a little disconcerted by her concern and finally she releases his hand.

"Good," she says quietly and studies him a moment before continuing. "Cooper and the task force won't find tonight as amusing as I do at the moment. How will you handle this situation with Pratt?"

"A small tit for tat I'm sure will follow. Nothing too serious. Then it will be her turn and on it goes."

"Uh huh. Your love life seems risky, Reddington. You should take care."

"There are risks everywhere, Lizzy," and by the tone that has entered his voice she's aware he is no longer speaking of Pratt. There is the faintest hint of warning in his words.

This is the closest they've come to the subject of her husband and Red's previous accusations, but he continues on rather quickly before she can reply, "Before you go, may I ask a question?"

"Of course."

"How are you?

Such a simple inquiry, but in this case there is a wealth of meaning behind it and the obligatory _fine_ will not do. Not with the concern in his eyes that search her expression for an answer. His voice that sometimes holds the trace of a multitude of emotions just as it does now. The pain and regret she senses there.

How is she? After she cancelled the adoption, returned the gifts, packed away the nursery? Endured Tom's silence and her own self doubt? She hasn't had the strength to ask herself that question much less put it into words.

"I'm...I'm better than I was is the best answer I have. Sometimes doing what is right is the worst thing possible."

Something he knows all too well. "That is quite true. Thank you for answering."

"Remember that the next time I have a question for you," and she returns his smile at her response. "I'll say goodnight then."

"Goodnight Lizzy."

It is his turn to watch her drive away and he stands on the quiet street thinking he is most definitely at risk only not in the way she thinks.

* * *

By the time it is all said and done, he supposes this really isn't a bad outcome. He has the effigy, Maddie the Vermeer and the feds have the missile codes.

The deception mixed with truth used to reach this result is not what he would have wanted, but she left him little choice and perhaps in time will come to realize there was honesty between them in the cell. The torture may not have occurred but he offered her a glimpse of the events related to his family. He owed her that at least.

And so the Vermeer will be waiting for him in Florence should he decide to drop in, but they both know he will never make that journey. The effigy is enough. It wasn't difficult giving up the codes for this small memento. Curiously though it isn't Madeline that he thinks of when he places the small statue where the painting was once displayed. It is the red of her dress and an unexpected dance. Her eyes when the light hits them in that certain way and her laugh when she just can't help it. A thousand little things but especially the mysterious workings of fate.


	8. Pas De Deux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline 1.15 - 1.16

_Will we ever see what it's like behind these walls  
_ _And are you, are you still moving up every time you fall_

* * *

There are many anniversaries he associates with his past life and more specifically his child. Some he recalls on a certain date, some a season, and even a few by the time of day. Her birthday, the crispness in the air when fall arrives and the vision of her waving from the school bus. The early evening and that in-between time from dinner to bedtime when she'd come with book in hand those days he was home and not on assignment. The last time he saw her that Cristmas Eve.

These are not memories that come to him on a daily basis. He would be crushed by the weight of them even after all this time. Some simply pass through his mind but others require something more. Some tradition that must be upheld so she will return to him. That this lost daughter won't vanish completely.

The meal he eats on her birthday is the same every year. That it is a child's favorites and not his own matters not. It is the recollection of that last birthday they shared when she was presented all her wishes that he holds onto. A perfect day.

A ballet he has seen numerous times through the years reminding him of the dance recital he was able to attend at the last minute. All the special events he always seemed to miss because of his work but that March 22nd he flew all night crossing an ocean to keep a promise to her. One of the few he managed if he is honest with himself.

He's not sure why the recital became so important out of all the memories. Perhaps it is really only for this one small tangible connection he has with her. How she loved music and beauty even at her young age and knowing this came from him. He hopes everyday it is still there.

An empty theater and a twenty five year old recital program is what remains of that night. The check arrives in support of the company every year but the performances are sporadic. When he feels the pull to visit it again as one might a shrine for the lost, then the dancers are assembled on the specified date and the ache subsides. Until the next time.

* * *

"What are you up to?"

"Lizzy, it's one in the morning so I'll confess, not much."

This is the first late night call in weeks. She had told him she is better than she was and in the time since the adoption was stopped he sees the truth in her words. The focus remains on her work and for the last few weeks their conversation has rarely strayed from the case at hand.

Red has made no mention of the husband deciding it best to pick his battles. She does not want to hear what she does not want to believe, it is as simple as that. But a war is coming. The declaration all but made when he sat down across from the traitor outside Sam's hospital. It is only a matter of time and soon she will be forced to face the truth.

For now all resources are centered around the husband. His whereabouts, the interaction with the mysterious Jolene, the identity of the one behind the switch in allegiance.

When this is known then perhaps Red will have the evidence needed to convince Lizzy of the veracity of his words. Perhaps then he will be able to get her the hell out of that house and away from the danger surrounding her.

"Are you there?"

"Yes, I apologize. What were you saying?"

"I said I'll let you go if I'm disturbing you."

He doesn't seem himself tonight and is obviously preoccupied. She wonders, not for the first time, why these late night calls come easier to her somehow than some of their face to face interactions. There is hardly a thought in picking up the phone to dial his number anymore no matter the time, usually to ask the questions she never manages to in person.

But she senses it immediately. Everything feels off.

"Not at all. What can I do for you?"

"Well, I'm wondering what you're up to. Not at this moment but with this Ressler situation."

"I assure you nothing nefarious. As I told you before I'm simply providing what information I can offer that will lead him to Tanida."

Her sigh is audible. "I'm not sure revenge is the best answer. Would Audrey want that?"

"She's not here to answer that unfortunately," but at the hardness in his voice he takes a moment before continuing. "When a debt is incurred, it must be settled one way or another."

"But—"

"Lizzy, this is not my decision to make although I understand what is driving him. Was there anything else?"

"No I….goodnight Red."

"Lizzy."

"Yes?"

"Call anytime."

It was a vague sense of unease that had prompted her call in the first place and when she disconnects it is still there. Actually, she feels more unsettled now than before. Whatever it is remains just out of reach and the feeling she has not helped the situation lingers. The right words seem to escape her lately but still he welcomes her calls. The truth of it apparent in his voice and dammit she wishes he didn't frustrate her so.

_He's not like you. He can't just murder someone in cold blood and come out of it okay on the other end._

_Nobody can murder someone in cold blood and come out okay on the other end._

She cringes at her statement from their earlier conversation. Had wanted to take it back immediately or even offer an apology but the time for that seemed to come and go so quickly she wasn't sure how to bring it up again. But now at this late hour feeling more on edge than ever she has done just what she hadn't intended. Let her frustration with his lack of forthrightness get the better of her.

There has been a change in him. He is quieter and more withdrawn than she has known him to be. So subtle she is unsure if she is imagining it or if it is even related to this business with Ressler. Well, whatever it is she doubts seriously she will discover the reason for it. Not with the way he retreats or her verbal jabs out of frustration. Quite a pair they make, she thinks. Dancing around the other as they do, sometimes in step but at other times anything but.

Perhaps at their next visit….

* * *

Will this be his last  _Swan Lake_? The thought invariably crosses his mind every time but especially this year. Standing on the precipice as they are and who knows what the outcome will be. Who will die as Odette and Siegfried and who will survive the fall?

Jolene and the cowboy missing, certainly killed by the traitor while the man responsible for an innocent woman's death was spared. He thinks sometimes it is all just chaos until his mind takes hold of the next piece in the puzzle which urges him forward.

That will come soon enough.

Pushing those thoughts aside, he opens the program and begins to read each name. Stops when he reaches the one he searches for, faded with the passage of time, but it is as a sacrament to him. His beautiful child and he welcomes her memory in. The unbearable has become bearable at least for tonight.

He has missed her.

* * *

She sees him through the window of the coffee shop sharing a small table with Dembe.  _He looks tired_ , is her first impression. This explains Dembe answering her call earlier and not Red himself.  _He had a late night, Elizabeth_ and if it wasn't important he would not disturb him just then. It wasn't that important and she kept the hint of worry to herself but was thankful a few hours later to receive the text telling her of their location.

 _He looks shocked_ , is her second impression as she makes her way to their table. She had assumed the text was sent per Red's request but obviously that is not the case. There is no time to question it, however, as Dembe rises to give them privacy only offering his standard greeting before moving off.

"Lizzy, this is a surprise."

"Is it? Dembe sent a text a little while ago. Did he tell you I called earlier? I think you were still sleeping."

He looks around her to the other man now sitting on the opposite side of the room determinedly looking out the window. "No, he failed to mention that," he mutters with a roll of his eyes. "In any case, good morning. Shall we order you a coffee?"

She's a little flustered suddenly and gets the distinct impression that Red is too at this obvious set-up. Both welcome the reprieve as he signals the barista and while she orders he glances a few times in Dembe's direction. It is no use as he is being purposely ignored.

Red is well aware his friend worries about him and perhaps this time of year even more so. The restlessness that always finds him after the performance was there waiting at its conclusion last night and it wasn't until the early morning before he attempted to sleep a few hours. Perhaps Dembe thought a visit from Lizzy was in order and did some arranging. Well, he's not used to being arranged and the feeling is a bit disconcerting but he gives up, looking back toward her curious blue eyes.

"Is this a social call or something to do with the investigation?"

"No, it is concluded as I'm sure you're aware. Ressler is staying very quiet on the subject I might add."

"Did you come here for information, Lizzy?"

"No I….no."

This had been part of her reasoning for seeking him out this morning but it really isn't the case. She knows this now. It was the unease after their prior conversations. The words she had wanted to take back but couldn't find the way. The worry she felt building for some unknown reason.

"The only thing he would say is you actually told him to turn back. To not seek out Tanida himself."

It's not really a question only a statement and he doesn't reply, deciding it better to sip his coffee and wait for her to lead the conversation.

"You look tired. You should go home and rest."

Her words catch him off-guard as she always seems to do. This abrupt change in topic and he can't help but feel it is the real purpose of her visit. To check on him as strange as he finds the notion. That she could possibly be concerned about him still surprises and it brings to mind her worry over the injury to his hand the night of the embassy heist. It also reminds him of the time he said something very similar to her.  _You look tired. Go home, get some sleep. Unless you're avoiding your home._

He wonders if she had taken his advice that early morning or how long she remained on the bench by the river until she had no choice but to leave. It is a feeling he knows all too well. There is no home for him to avoid, not really, but he knows about the exhaustion that wills the body to keep moving because to stop would be a breaking and not a rest.

There is a small shake of his head as he attempts to focus on their conversation. "Yes, I suppose I am at that. I thank you for your concern."

There it is again. Sincerity. She sees it in his smile and she returns it but doesn't miss the shadow that still lurks behind his eyes. The one she has noticed this past week or two. She would call it grief in order to put a name to it even though she doesn't understand its arrival.

 _You tell me and I'll tell you._ Their quid pro quo but she cannot utter the words this time. It will have to remain unsaid unless he ever decides to tell her.

"You're welcome, Red. I suppose I should get going—"

She is halted by his hand on her arm. Gentle but firmly willing her to stay and she relaxes back into her chair with a quizzical expression.

"No need to rush. They make a marvelous vanilla scone here. Let me order a couple for us."

Something, anything to prolong this moment. He feels them inching ever so closer to the cliff when all around them will fall. It is inevitable and the reason he is here and seeing her smile compounds the ache in his chest. Knowing what is coming for them. Knowing they will never be the same.

Just a little while longer, that's all he asks for today.

"Then you'll take my advice?"

"Then I will take your advice."

"Then I'd be happy to stay awhile, Red."

And she finds that she  _is_  happy here in this tucked away cafe, sharing coffee and scones with a notorious criminal. None of that matters as he tells her of a summer he spent at a vanilla bean plantation in Madagascar and they lose all track of time.

As sometimes happens.


	9. Revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline 1.17 - 1.18

_You are a stranger here_  
_Why have you come…_  
_Who are you really  
_ _And where are you going?_

* * *

It's almost dawn by the time Liz slips between the covers, slowly so as not to wake the imposter sleeping next to her. Stifling the overwhelming urge to simply put a gun to his head and demand answers for this infiltration into her life, she turns her back to him and stares toward the darkened window.

There won't be any sleep. It is not a possibility with her racing thoughts only outpaced by that of her pulse, but the pretense must be upheld. She had insisted on that. Ignoring the concern in Red's expression, she has made the decision to return to this house and discover whatever truths may be hidden here.

_Breathe,_ she tells herself and concentrates on the rise and fall of her chest. Wills herself to calm down. He can't suspect. She must fool him as he has her all these years and the thought of it brings a lump to her throat. No, she will not cry. There must be no trace of emotion a few hours from now when they enter their morning routine.

He may already have questions as to why she never came to bed. Feigning work that would keep her up for a while, she had kissed him goodnight and simply sat staring at the image of the blue plastic hippo thrown into the trash in the secret hideaway. The location of the last call made from Jolene Parker's phone.

_My god, how is all this connected?_  Bringing her hand to the side of her face she had felt the swollen area, still painful even now, as the realization washed over her. That was Tom's warehouse. There is no other explanation for it. Her phone call to him just before she entered had alerted him of her presence and allowed him to destroy evidence.

He was waiting inside for her. Her husband. It was Tom that rammed the door into her, knocking her to the ground. Her partner. His fist that brought the blow giving him enough time to escape. Her lover.

She's grateful it has been hours since she forced down the dinner he prepared or she'd be sick right there lying next to him.

It is what had driven her from her home. This violent act committed by the one she has trusted most and before she knew it she had arrived at Red's safe house. Where else would she go but to the man that has warned her of her husband since he walked into the FBI and surrendered.

_You were right._

_Come in._

That is all. No condemnation as he ushered her inside even though her last words to him were in anger and frustration as she attempted to gather information regarding Jolene. This woman who was in her home and Tom's hideout. This woman who is now missing and the implication of what that may mean is incomprehensible.

The urge to run from all this is powerful and she had faltered just beyond the door but Red was there. It was his arm that slipped around her shoulders steering her toward the kitchen where he poured her a coffee. His hand that brushed up and down her arm to comfort her and remind her she is not alone. His eyes that reflected all the pain in her own.

"Lizzy, tell me how you discovered the truth?"

"It was Uncle Flippo."

"Uncle who?"

She would laugh at the absurdity if she didn't fear the hysteria that must surely follow. He had looked at her with obvious alarm at that point and she can't blame him. She had felt as disconnected from reality as this ridiculous story she told him. Like she were speaking of another couple, another betrayal and not the one ripping her life apart.

No more questions. He must have sensed how close she was to the breaking point and simply gestured toward the small sitting area where he placed the music box on the table before her.

The tune so familiar as her mind went back to her childhood and the nightmare that persisted from the fire she sees only as a flash. And Sam. Her father, alone and raising this traumatized little girl, offering the only comfort he knew how. A melody he picked up somewhere along the way and hummed for his child, a little out of tune but it never mattered. She'd fall asleep to it and wake to the sun streaming into her window.

Somehow Red was aware of the story. This is what he had been working on for days and days. He knew this moment was coming and there would be little he could say to ease the pain. Because some nightmares are real and he wanted her…

_To know that everything is going to be okay. You're going to be okay._

Almost like a promise.

She had let him gather her close, welcomed it. Could feel the words he whispered into her hair as well as hear them. There is nothing else left in her world that she trusts in save for this and closing her eyes she let his arms hold her together.

The first traces of morning light are beginning to make their way inside and soon Lizzy will have to take on the role of loving wife, but she barely gives it a thought. Not yet. She is still back in the safe house with the feel of his embrace so real she wonders if she's dreaming. It doesn't matter as his words find her again. _You're going to be okay_  and she clings to this one indisputable belief. Asleep or awake she is stronger than her nightmares.

* * *

She's like a storm. Powerful. Unpredictable. Charging toward shore and Red can do little to stop her. Only hope to be with her as she tears through her husband's fabricated life. If they can focus that energy toward finding the unknown enemy perhaps all this could end.

Perhaps then she may be free.

She will remain in the house for the time being. It really isn't his decision to make but they had arrived at it the night she came to him. As sickened as they both are by the prospect, they cannot deny the merit in the plan. Target the one who targeted her in the hopes of smoking out his employer.

"We'll need somewhere close to the Post Office to meet and go over what evidence we find," she had said, already planning their mission.

"Leave it to me."

A storage facility fitted with whiteboard, computer and all they would need was ready by that afternoon. They have met daily since then, several times a day, in fact. He has given her the surveillance footage from inside her home and is glad to be free of it. Not having the stomach for it, he had Mr. Kaplan go through some of the footage but perhaps Lizzy will discover something they had not.

"He wants to renew our vows."

Red can't help the derisive laugh at her statement. "Things are unraveling for him. He's desperate to keep you close."

What can they do but go forward with this tentative plan and so he must control his own anger as well. Maybe this forced act of normalcy is what they both need and so a new case will be presented to the task force as if nothing has changed.

"I'm going to arrange for his brother to fly in tomorrow and surprise Tom with the renewal. We need to get an idea of who Craig Keen really is."

He hates the thought of another ceremony. It sickens him just as when he first learned of their marriage. "Lizzy, maybe we should—"

"No, we can't wait. With Craig here there is a possibility of learning more about who hired them."

He relents. There is no turning her back.

The next evening finds him with drink in hand trying hard to numb his mind. To not think of her standing before her friends speaking words of devotion to the traitor. It is intolerable and when she calls the next day telling him of the glass that Craig Keen had handled it is Dembe that picks it up. He will not cross the threshold into her home, not today.

Slowly they are adding pieces to the puzzle. The whiteboard beginning to be filled with disparate bits of information and they study it in turn searching for a pattern. A key found hidden in a lamp is added but a key to what? They do not know.

He watches her. They go long stretches in the confined space with few words spoken. Each lost in thought or busy with the task at hand but still he observes her looking for a crack in the armor. His inquiry regarding the renewal swatted away with a wave of her hand and he lets it go not wanting to push her.

A quick trip is required to discover Craig's true identity but the thought of leaving worries him. That he would be far from her should she need him, but it is the only way the real name may be discovered.  _I think it's time for the three of us to have a little chat,_ as he does indeed return with the true identity.

She was to find the imposter brother, watch his movements. That is all, but she is raging as a storm intensifying and by the time he gets back it is to a disheveled Lizzy with Craig handcuffed to the sink of his hotel room.

He cannot possibly hold her back, only attempt to prevent her from destroying herself in the process. Because whatever or whomever they are fighting is far more dangerous than even he imagined. Craig opting for the pavement far below over giving up information regarding his connection to Berlin a clear sign their enemy is a formidable one.

Through it all he can't help but feel grateful he is at least here and able to offer whatever assistance he can. That he is able to stand alongside her and solve this dangerous mystery. It could be lost at any moment, the small measure of her trust he has gained. He does not deserve it and the thought of what will one day destroy it weighs heavily on his thoughts. The moment she will learn the truth of the traitor's presence in her life and it fills him with a dread the likes of which he has known only a handful of times in his life.

* * *

As inevitably happens with a storm, it falls apart. There is simply no way for it to sustain the energy required to go forward at that magnitude. He has waited for it and the buzzing of his phone in the middle of the night is no surprise. This ritual that has developed between them persists and he makes sure it is close by.

"Lizzy, are you okay?"

Red hears the worry in his own voice as suddenly he lets loose the fear he has held in check for days. That the imposter will discover he has been found out.

"Talk to me," when he is met with silence.

How stupidly foolish they have been. He can't fathom why they thought anything could be gained from her remaining in that cursed house.

"I'm on my way. I can be there—"

"No, I'm here. I'm alright."

She is anything but  _alright,_  he hears it immediately. The tears making it difficult for her to speak. This is what he has known would come, the breaking apart and it is killing him.

"Where are you?"

"Home."

"Where in your home? Where exactly?" So he can picture her there. So he will know the distance between her and the husband.

"I'm sitting on the floor in the kitchen," she murmurs and draws in a shaky breath trying to get hold of her emotions. Both of them falling apart will hardly help the situation but she had been desperate to hear his voice. To lose herself in it and let it soothe her.

She hadn't been able to control the sickness this time. It had come in waves until she left the bed and made her way downstairs to the guest bathroom. When it finally passed she went to the kitchen to rinse the bitterness from her mouth and slid to the ground as the tears would no longer be contained. Thankfully she had taken her phone from the nightstand out of habit, probably, but also knowing she would need to call him.

It had caught her as a complete surprise, the hand on her shoulder halting her exit from the room.  _Stop. We're newlyweds._ The chill spread through her body in an instant and there was only a second to determine which course to take before she turned to face him. Going off some inexplicable sense of self-preservation she made her decision. Something deep within warning her of his volatility tonight. With Craig now missing and his growing suspicion, he is more dangerous than she ever realized.

"Lizzy, you don't have to stay there to let him…..leave right now and come here. We never should have been so reckless—"

"No, I'm not leaving without answers," she interjects, her voice stronger than before.

His unspoken words making it clear to her he understands precisely the nature of her call and his pain for her is palpable. But what she needs is steadiness right now, not his sympathy if she is to  _stay the course_ as he had told her when they chose this path.

"Tell me about your trip, how you found out Craig's real identity. Tell me anything. Where did you go?"

"I don't believe I'm quite up to—"

Ignoring the resignation in his voice she leaves him no choice. "Well, that's too bad because I've had a hell of a few days and I'm afraid it's up to you to distract me tonight. So let's hear it. Where did you go?"

The storm is already regrouping within her and soon she will be charging ahead again. If he were there he'd put a bullet in the imposter's head as he should have done all along and gather her close. Tell her every last detail of his fault in all this and take whatever was to come from it. But he's not there and though the image of what she has endured as she sits alone on the floor of her home is terrible beyond belief he will at least do as she asks tonight.

Taking a breath he summons every last ounce of composure he can muster. "Lizzy, you may not know this but the preeminent expert in the field of touch DNA happens to be a Bosnian working at the university in San Salvador. Man with a head like a Brussels sprout but honestly there is none better. Had to use quite a bit of persuasion to get him on board after a little kerfuffle involving his wife and a fair amount of hashish. Now the way Vlad can take a fingerprint and—"

"I think you're skipping the best part. Go back."

"What, to the part about San Salvador? Well I hadn't visited in awhile but—"

"Quit stalling. What happened with the wife and the hashish?"

"And grappa. Did I mention the grappa? Gallons of the stuff and honestly no one could've withstood that onslaught…"

Later when she ends the call, he tries not to imagine her walking back upstairs to resume the act of the happily married couple. Instead he concentrates on their last words.

"Goodnight Lizzy. Try to sleep if you're able."

"Red, wait," she said in a rush not wanting him to disconnect yet. "Will you meet me for breakfast in the morning? I need to do something normal for once."

His chuckle is promptly followed by, "Of course. A normal breakfast before we head to a classified FBI black site is just the thing to start our day."

There is a small laugh before she goes and he doesn't move, afraid he will lose it. Keeping the phone to his ear, he plays it over and over in his mind.

Almost like a promise.


	10. Fracture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline 1.19

_The black clouds I'm hanging_  
_This anchor I'm dragging  
_ _The sails of memory rip open in silence_

* * *

Liz never expected a quiet exit. After two years of marriage and the betrayal she so recently discovered to simply slip out of the house with the pretense of walking the dog is nothing short of surreal.

That feeling of detaching from herself returns as she removes the leash and goes to the kitchen to pour food in his bowl. Turns off the stove where the dinner her husband was preparing will never be completed and stands there listening to the nothingness filling her home.

Minutes later Hudson brushes up against her leg to get her attention but when she glances at the clock she's surprised almost an hour has passed since he left. Is it possible for a person to turn to stone when the heart dies but continues to beat? Leaning down to pick him up she feels the first prick of tears as she whispers an apology for ignoring him and grabbing her phone and gun she leaves for the walk that never occurred.

They've made several loops through the neighborhood before Liz relaxes. She sees nothing out of the ordinary or any indication of danger and finally reaches for her phone.

"He knows."

"How do you—"

"He's gone."

"I'm on my way."

It's almost amusing to her how they sometimes converse in this shorthand yet knowing exactly where the other is in the conversation. She's never appreciated it more until that moment when each word is a struggle.

Not able to face the thought of walking into that house, they resume circling the block. Several times she stops and looks up to the sliver of sky visible between the row houses, fighting off the claustrophobia hanging over her. Fighting to breathe and refusing to break down until Hudson pulls the leash and they continue on. It's frightening to think what would happen if she didn't have the simple routine of this act to prevent her losing all control.

* * *

He finds her on the steps of the brownstone, the dog asleep in her arms. There is no reaction to the car pulling to the curb mere feet away with her gaze off in the distance somewhere and honestly this worries him more than anything just then.

Only hours before he had tried to hold her back as they surveilled the husband but her anger would not be held in check. Running into traffic, heedless of the danger, she had charged after him and interrupted a drop he was to accept. Ah well, he has done the same on a few occasions but although her safety gnaws at him, the traitor is not endgame. It is whomever or whatever he works for that they must find now.

He studies her, not making a move to exit the car. For the thousandth time the need to take this burden from her rises within. To make right the harm he inadvertently brought to her life. Anything to put an end to this devastating aloneness and collapse within herself he is privy to at that moment, but there are no easy answers when one feels they have lost everything. How desperately he wants her to know this is not the case, but she's too close to it now to see anything beyond.

"Dembe, walk the neighborhood once or twice to be sure. I'll take her inside."

His voice doesn't sound as strong as he'd like and he swallows a few times so she won't hear it and leaves the vehicle. Hudson is alerted to his presence before she is as he kneels on the step below and places a hand on her knee.

"Lizzy."

Her eyes finally blink to bring him into focus and he hears her sigh of relief that he is there.

"It's not safe being outside like this."

"I don't think it's much better in there," she says with a nod of her head indicating the door behind her.

He takes this small glimpse of humor as a good sign and reaches for the dog. "Here, let me," and before she can respond, Hudson is lifted from her lap and he walks the rest of the way up the stairs.

Nothing to do, she supposes, but go back through the door he is now holding open, and she smiles despite herself at the picture of her dog cradled in the crook of his arm.

The music box is still on the table and she walks directly to it, running her hand over its beautiful surface. The glass a window to the intricate workings inside that he painstakingly restored so a melody would play for her. A promise that one day she would survive this. She finds it next to impossible to believe it just then.

A small yip from Hudson draws her eyes toward Red who has advanced only a few paces in the room and is silently watching her. She has no idea how long she has stood there and again she thinks of all the time flying past tonight while she is rooted to the spot where her life finally fell to pieces around her. The truth of her husband's lies has been known for days now. She has waited for this moment but nothing can ever really prepare you for the worst thing in your life.

He proceeds the rest of the way into the dining room with the impatient bundle in his arms. After removing the leash, he puts the dog down to scurry off and slips out of his coat.

Turning back with a glance toward the music box, she answers the question in his eyes. "Tom must have searched the house and found it. He saw me at the archives today, that's how he knew."

"Why don't you sit and I'll start the water boiling for tea."

"No, I'm afraid it would make me ill. I haven't kept much down lately.

He wonders if she's aware how forthright her statement is as she takes the box from the table and leaves to place it in the living room. How much it reveals about the ordeal she has been going through staying in this house. He hasn't witnessed this hidden vulnerability since the evening she discovered the truth or the late night phone call.

It is fleeting, however, and as she joins him at the table the anger is resurfacing. Anger at the husband and although justified they need to focus on the next step.  _Your husband never existed….for Tom it was just business_  and her confirmation of what occurred after the vow renewal sickens him all over again.

The coercion used by the traitor when he already suspected her and the rage ignites within him as well. For her brokenness and self-doubt. For all that was taken from her that she will never get back.

With or without him she will not stop until she confronts the traitor.

So be it.

* * *

_For Tom it was just business._

My god how can Red say that to her? Doesn't he understand what the last two years of her life have been? Her marriage, the child they almost adopted, her life inextricably linked to her husband's and now to just set that aside for the bigger enemy is not something she is willing to do.

The anger begins to spill over and she finds herself directing it at him. As if he is standing between herself and Tom and asking her to change course. How can he expect this of her? As if he would do the same. She doesn't need him and tells him as much, disconnecting the call as he tries to speak with her. The guilt is quickly pushed aside. There is no time for that now.

She can and will find Tom on her own.

But it seems she doesn't have to. Walking into her home, she is met by the Pavlovich brothers and Tom returned to the scene of his crimes.

_A gift from Reddington. Enjoy._

So he had heard her. Has finally accepted her wishes and here sits her husband, a man she'd hardly recognize without the glasses and docile manner. The coldness and indifference something she has never perceived before.

 _I_   _was doing my job._

Almost the same words Red had used and she cannot comprehend it. His calculated seduction and pity because it had worked. He is a stranger and the same could be said for herself as she takes the pliers from the drawer and without thinking twice breaks his thumb.

Perhaps if she'd thought it through it would have occurred to her he could then escape the zip tie but it's too late by the time he is up and over the table. No going back as she is pushed into the counter with a chair smashing into her back.

The kick to her abdomen knocks the breath from her body and though she lands a few blows she is unprepared for the onslaught or his ruthlessness. This violent assault ending with her own weapon and handcuffs used to detain her.

 _I am not here to hurt you, Liz...I'm one of the good guys_ as she stares down the barrel of the gun and she understands with complete clarity the true nature of his sociopathy.  _Reddington, he's not who you think._ Deflection away from his own crimes onto another and suddenly she can read him so well now that the mask has been removed.

What she sees in his eyes chills her to the depths of her soul and something inside shatters.

* * *

A choice between the traitor and Lizzy.

He chooses Lizzy and lets Tom move off down the darkened street with his own agents following behind. How he made his escape Red has no idea and he feels a knot form in his stomach. Whoever the traitor works for has obviously given clear instructions that she not be killed but still the harm that has been done to her is extreme.

She should not be alone on a night like this.

A foot inside the door and he already has a general idea of what occurred. The almost complete destruction of the living and dining rooms clear evidence of the violent altercation that occurred. The broken staircase spindle and handcuffs discarded nearby is the answer to one question at least. She was overpowered in the struggle and rounding the corner he finally sees her on the sofa.

Arms crossed in a protective posture, so still and hardly a reaction when he walks in. He senses almost a physical barrier she has placed around her preventing him immediately going to her and he opts instead for the chair across from her.

_How is this all going to end?_

_This is an end and then something new will begin._

There is only the end though. It goes on and on, this ending of everything. She feels nothing else and when he eventually offers assistance in cleaning up the mess she shakes her head.  _Leave it._ It's almost comforting in a way, this chaos of broken wood and glass. Finally the cracks she has felt growing since her discovery of the box in the floor all those months ago have given way and tore through all the deception. She'd rather see her belongings strewn about than the immaculate home concealing the cancer within. Until this moment she had no idea how much hatred has grown for this place.  _Just leave it._

No argument but a few minutes later when he stands and comes toward her, he doesn't give in.

It's difficult to hide the uncertainty in her eyes as he reaches out wanting to help her. The hesitancy at the thought of allowing anyone to touch her holds her in place.

"It's only a hand, Lizzy."

 _Only a hand._  The same one that grasped hers that day in the park when she found the connection between her husband and Zanetakos. How she held onto it, drew strength from it and then threw it back in his face when Tom escaped the murder charge. The one constant in all this has been Red, she just didn't see it as she didn't see so many things. Yet here he stands after all the accusations she has hurled toward him.

"Lizzy?"

She is slipping away into her troubled thoughts but he's not going to let her sit there wrapped up within herself all night and with some effort to move she finally takes his hand. There is just the faintest dampness in his palm and she glances up a little surprised. Such a small thing but she finds this hint at his nervousness touching, having seen it so few times.

He helps pull her up and the groan that follows is quite involuntary as every part of her body opposes the movement. Never before has she felt this battered from the inside out. They navigate the path of destruction to the kitchen and she leans against the counter while he removes his coat and scarf.

"Now, where do you hurt?" but at the arch of her brow he clarifies. "Well, does anything feel broken?"

Not much better since everything feels broken and not just physically, but he is trying to help and so she lets him.

"I don't think so. My ribs are going to be sore for awhile though."

Without thinking she reaches down and raises her shirt to have a look at her abdomen where the kick landed. Between that and the crash landing onto her coffee table, her midsection feels like it is being squeezed in a vice. It is as expected. The mottled redness of her skin already giving way to a deep bruise that spreads out in all directions.

He catches her hand as it lets go of the hem of her top. "May I see?"

At her nod, he raises it up to reveal the injuries and she turns as he follows the discolored skin around to her back where he brings the shirt higher. A muttered curse the only reaction to the sight before him.

She doesn't have to ask. If pain is any indication then she can well imagine what it looks like. "What's that old joke? You should see the other guy."

"I guarantee if I did see the  _other guy_  right now…"

He doesn't finish and as he turns her back to face him, he doesn't need to. The grim set of his mouth and the muscle jumping in his jaw is enough of a clue at the anger he is attempting to control.

Not meeting her eyes, he places a hand at each side of her ribcage feeling for any major fracture. Her sharp intake of breath a time or two makes him stop at that particular area before moving on.  _I'm sorry,_ he whispers but she only nods her head. He is not hurting her, not really. The coolness of his hands is soothing and she resists the urge to place her hand over his to hold it in place.

"In all likelihood there are a few that are broken. Once you're lying down we'll get some ice on them."

"I've had worse."

His words repeated back from the night at the embassy and her concern over his hand, but he still won't look at her. Won't acknowledge this attempt to lighten the mood what with the war raging within him.

"Red."

He drops his hands from her sides and she lets the shirt fall back into place.

"Okay, I've never actually had worse. There, I admit it."

Finally the smallest smile as he meets her gaze but it doesn't stay as he tucks her hair behind her ear to look at the scrape along her cheek. His hand remains there a moment while his thumb sweeps along the swelling and this time she does place her hand over his.

"Can you do something for me?"

"Anything," he murmurs and a universe is contained in that word. There is nothing he would not do for her and how few times has he felt that in his life. It is shocking in its intensity.

"I didn't take you up on your offer of tea the last time you were here, but if you were to offer again…"

A smile that reaches his eye this time before he responds, "I'll meet you at the table."

Thank goodness there are two chairs left standing and she sits and watches him bustle about her kitchen and soon he is carrying two cups to join her. That he made one for himself as well makes her smile and she doesn't care about the pain that elicits.

They sit in silence for awhile until he looks around realizing someone is missing. "Where's Hudson?"

Pain of a different sort as she is reminded of all that has been lost.

"Staying with a friend. I was worried about his safety here. My god," as she scans the wreckage surrounding her.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" he murmurs.

It seems she does and so she begins at the beginning. The stranger in place of her husband. The lack of emotion as he explained it really was just a job. The heart she drew in the dust on his shoe and how he knew he had her from that moment on. The barriers fall one by one as her humiliation is laid bare and only for Red does she think she could tell it this first time.

At the end she realizes she is holding his hand in her lap and there is no recollection of who reached out first. It doesn't matter. The only thing left even resembling permanence in her life is this bond they share, intangible though it may be, but she clings to it with all the strength left in her body.

The strength that is fading with every passing minute.

"Lizzy, you need rest. Let me help you upstairs."

"No." Sharper than she intended and he draws back slightly. "I'm no longer sleeping in our….upstairs. There are blankets and a pillow in the hall closet. I've been down here on the sofa."

Now he understands and with a squeeze of her hand rises to get them. There is the sound of doors opening and closing, the rustling through cabinets, but she stays where she is, closing her eyes to everything around her.

A hand on her arm rouses her and he is there with water and a few pain pills which she swallows without question. He has also found her stash of ice packs she began keeping in the freezer since her Quantico days but nothing has ever compared to this.

The sofa is all made up and with only the smallest pressure at her elbow he guides her to it. Kneels to remove her boots and helps as she gingerly lies back. Waiting until she is settled in a reasonably comfortable position, he then sits on the edge and places a few ice packs around her torso. His quiet  _I know but you need them_ comes in response to the pain marring her features.

It is torture for him to see her in such a state but he realized not long ago that this situation with the traitor is ultimately her battle. Red hates himself for it but if she is to survive this, he must heed her wishes. It is why the husband was delivered back to her because that was her choice, no matter that he disagreed. What happens now will be on her terms and he can only hope she will allow him to help her.

There he stays sitting near her feet and can tell when the medicine has begun to work with the relaxing of her features. A hand has been lightly rubbing her calf but he stills his movements not wanting to disturb her. Just when he is contemplating what he should do now that she is resting he hears her whisper, "Will you stay with me until I'm asleep?"

A pause and then, "Of course, Lizzy."

It is not his first response but is uttered at the last second. The true answer cannot be spoken right then and in reality probably never will be, but it is there just the same.

 _Always_.


	11. Surrender

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline 1.20 -1.21

_And oh please just come here_  
_don't fight with me  
_ _I think you may have broken me_

* * *

She had told Red everything. All about Tom and the words he had spoken, here in this home they shared. Her blindness to what was there from the beginning making her feel what a fool she had been. There comes a point when so much has been lost that pride no longer factors in. Nothing was left out. It was a relief really, this letting go.

It wasn't until later that it occurred to her. She had not mentioned the key.

The one found hidden in the lamp and a copy made to keep on the whiteboard filled with clues. Tom's parting words to her the location of the safety deposit box and she had said nothing. It wasn't a conscious decision and Liz has difficulty understanding the reason for it. Perhaps it is as simple as Red always being the possessor of the hidden information and so rarely being forthright with it.

And now here was something she knows that he does not.

What was it Tom said before he walked out the door the second and final time?  _Reddington, he's not who you think._

No, he is not who she thinks. Not at all.

She had thought him a criminal, a monster. Heartless. And how quickly that had changed. Within days, maybe even hours. There is still that which she cannot justify or understand, but he is there as a….friend. Just as he once said she might one day need. She believes that now and that he wants to protect her future. Somehow he knew about Tom and surrendered in order to get close and show her the truth. The why or how of that she may never fully understand but it is undeniable.

He is not who she thinks as he cared for her, watched over her as she slept. Tended to her injuries and not just the ones visible on the outside but those deep within.

_You deserve the best in life, Lizzy,_  as the life she knew has ended.  _It's the reason Tom had to work so hard to be that for you. To be kind, to be thoughtful. To make you laugh. To make you love him. Because you deserve that and it will come._ As she wonders how she could not have known. As she questions every last thing about herself but his words had calmed her. Words really not about her husband at all but what Red sees in her. What he believes and wishes for her. No, he is not who she thinks.

He did as he promised. Stayed by her side until she was sleeping and then long after. She woke in the early hours of the morning before the first rays of light would make it into the living room. The aching in her body had roused her and there he was dozing in the chair.

She can't imagine he was very comfortable in that thing and it crossed her mind to call out and urge him to go home and rest. Shifting onto her side she watches him in the dimness. There is just enough light from the streetlamp outside that his features are distinguishable. How peaceful he seemed to her when the worry of the conscious world was lifted and she could not bring herself to disturb him.

Eventually sleep claims her again and when she wakes a few hours later he is gone. Every part of her body hurts and with a gasp of pain she rises and walks to the kitchen. There she finds it, a note left on the counter for her.

_I'll be hoping to hear from you.  
_ _R_

Something else they share as the thought has already crossed her mind to call him. What kind of night would she have endured had he not walked through her door. It is unimaginable that she could ever feel grateful for Red barging into her life but here on the first morning after the worst day of her life she acknowledges it.

Which makes the anguish that follows almost indescribable in its scope.

* * *

A long hot shower and change of clothes does wonders. She feels almost herself again. Almost. Her body is bruised from head to foot and she now understands Red's anger after getting a look at her back. It will be weeks before the evidence of the fight has disappeared and she doesn't stop to wonder how long the internal damage will be with her.

Taking her coffee and phone to the back deck she listens to the neighborhood coming to life. All these normal lives around her and she could have been one of them. Stayed in the private sector and never known the secret world of spies and criminals. However, Tom found her just the same. Something tells her she was never destined for a normal existence, whatever that means, even from the very beginning.

"Lizzy, I'm glad you called. How are you?"

He is positively cheerful having answered after the first ring and it brings a smile to her face.

"Sore as hell but better now that I'm up and moving."

"Good, very good. If you feel like moving some more, we're having a late breakfast in a bit."

"Are pancakes on the menu?"

"Well, not if you don't want them to be. Are you opposed to waffles? Crepes? Or—"

"Only pancakes," she interrupts with a laugh.

All of this nonsense is for her benefit and it is helping. She needs to take a day and rest. Let her battered body start to heal and what better way to start than a big breakfast.

"Should I bring anything?"

"Just yourself, Lizzy. Now don't be long, Dembe is getting the waffle iron out as we speak."

"I'm on my way."

She remembers in the car. Running through the events of the night before and there it is. The key and Tom's parting words to her but she doesn't dwell on them or the fact she has kept this information to herself.

It is pushed from her mind as Red ushers her into the safehouse and walks with an arm linked through her own to the kitchen at the back of the house. It is so easy to forget and let Dembe make her a waffle while Red insists she have another. To lose herself in their banter and obvious deep friendship which she rarely sees on full display as she does this morning.

And so she pretends it is any other day even though she catches the concern in Red's eyes. It is not difficult for him to discern a sudden ache as she shifts position or when she loses her place in the conversation as her mind wanders. He is there every time with a touch or a glance to bring her back.

She stays through the afternoon, Red keeping up a steady conversation and Lizzy getting lost in each story. Lets the sound of his voice carry her away from what waits for her at home.

It is only as she is leaving that she remembers the key and impulsively turns the car in the direction of the bank. When she pulls the photographs from the envelope in the safety deposit box, she realizes her worst day may not be behind her after all.

* * *

Red has been in this situation before. Too many pieces in the puzzle to keep aligned, too many variables to contend with and before he can prevent it, everything topples. The Kingmaker could have led him to his enemy but he was killed. The alliance should have held up their end of the bargain but Fitch was only too happy to inform him, he is on his own. And now Lizzy has been made aware of his presence at Sam's hospital the day he died. Tom, of course. No one but the traitor could have supplied that information.

She will never understand. Never fully comprehend the bond he shared with her father or the words they spoke that day. The horrific decision they both arrived at, but one founded by an oath to protect her all those years ago.

He waits for it, dreads it and longs for it at the same time. He's carried the sorrow for months now and her questions at the hidden club have set the events in motion. It is only a matter of time before she discovers the truth.

It's there in her expression when she walks through the door. The question he never wanted to answer.  _Did you kill my father?_ He will not lie to her, having made that promise long ago.  _Yes_. And everything is gone with the snap of a finger, everything he has been fighting for since his surrender.

_You're a monster._

Yes. He doesn't argue as she walks out and everything goes dark. It's not the first time she has said it, but her words didn't cut through him as they do now. Watching the ambulance take her away from the Stewmaker's cabin, he had felt only relief he had gotten to her in time.

Now, however, he takes each word as a blow. Terrible in their impact, but he accepts each one and let's them crash into him repeatedly. She should not be alone in her agony tonight.

He paces the suite with drink in hand before finally making his way to a chair. In the darkness there is no one to discern the depth and breadth of his grief. For her, Sam and all involved in this decades long tragedy. It never seems to end.

No need for any false bravado. No reason to hide the emotion that overwhelms him thinking of her returning alone to her home, just as tormented as he but now on the other side of a chasm he has no hope of crossing.

He sees her there, surrounded by the wreckage left in the wake of her altercation with the husband. Unchanged even days later as she has simply walked over it. Easier to let it be, this outward symbol of her shattered life. He feels every tear that falls around her, every breath taken with effort as if he were there by her side. The trembling of her body courses through his own as if he were holding her close and her despair is his but she is now beyond his reach.

* * *

And the distance between only grows wider with every passing day.

Her life is not her own.

Perhaps it never was but with the FBI combing through what is left of her home and the endless interrogations, there is very little left that hasn't been ripped wide open for all to see. How much is she expected to take? She has reached the breaking point and there is nothing to do but resign from the task force.

But he pushes at her as always.

A case that could lead to Tom, an eminent attack with lives at risk. He knows all the things to say to maintain her involvement in this last investigation and she relents. After that she will be only too happy to turn her back on all of this.

She starts by turning her back on him, barely meeting his eye or moving to the rear of the plane.

_If you expect me to forgive you…_

No, he has no such illusions. Would never think to ask for it.

It doesn't go unnoticed, the sorrow behind his eyes but she turns her back to that as well. Her focus only on the close of this case when she can leave this wretched place.

The phone call to have him meet her in the park comes easier than she could have imagined. A team will be waiting to take him into custody and perhaps then she may finally walk away.

Then something strange happens. Where once the clues were just a scattering of dissimilar pieces in the puzzle, now she is able to see the pattern. The connection of the cases, one blacklister leading to another leading to….Berlin. Not a place but a person.  _He is coming._

Red has no idea. The unknown enemy they have hunted is coming today with Reddington as the target.

What did she do? Handed him over to the FBI to be dropped in a black site possibly forever and her resignation cannot be retracted. His apprehension will not be stopped.

She races from the Post Office without a second thought.

* * *

_Lizzy, what have you done?_

He already knows the answer. Maybe some part of him already knew what was to happen upon his arrival at the park but still he came. Like a fool.

It's the chance to see her again that brought him here. Something to take with him wherever he may go. What surprises him is not that she would set the trap but it is her change of heart.

To leave now is unthinkable, he must know the reason for it. Why she is here to intervene on his behalf. If this is how it ends then so be it, but give him this small hope. Ignoring the urgency in her tone, he sits, his intention to remain clear.

"Red, the FBI is coming for you."

They're already surrounded and it makes no difference. She is all that matters as well as the words he may never have another opportunity to say to her. "What are they going to do to me that hasn't been done before? Kill me? None of it is worse than losing you."

He pulls the gun in an attempt to confuse the agents as to her presence there, but if anyone were to look closely they'd see the safety engaged.

Her anger overflows and she pays no attention to the FBI closing in, finally addressing all that he has brought to her life until at last…

"But there are answers I need, and I can't get them without you."

"And I can't get them without you."

"So I guess we're stuck with each other."

He can't help the chuckle following her words. Considering where they started from, he really couldn't ask for more than this. It makes everything worth it. The impending loss of his freedom and all that will follow. She is worth anything to come.

With the sun shining brightly behind her, he is reminded of the Andaman Sea and another time he was saved. He tells her the story. It is the only way to put into words what he feels in this moment.

It's as if the world falls away and they are alone. Her gaze never waivers from his and slowly her features relax with the telling of it. The anger giving way to….something else. Something indefinable and it will warm him in the days ahead.

_It made nearly dying well worth it. That's how I feel now._

Without a second thought he rises to place the gun in her hand and drops to his knees at her feet.


	12. Breach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline 1.22
> 
> Friendly reminder that Lizzy already knows about Red’s scars. Being the dedicated agent we know her to be she learned about them from his FBI file. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

_Stay with me_  
_Let's just breathe…_  
_I wonder every day_  
_As I look upon your face_  
_Everything you gave  
_ _And nothing you would take_

* * *

_Now it begins._

Red's last words to her after the burning plane disappears from view and all hell breaks loose. Agents everywhere, Reddington hauled to his feet and immediately handcuffed and led away. Her view of him blocked by Cooper demanding answers she doesn't have.

And just like that he is gone.

As the city fills with the sounds of sirens and helicopters descending on the crash site, she has no choice but to mutely follow Cooper to his vehicle. She loses all sense of time and direction as the line of black SUVs speeds through the New York streets until they enter an underground parking garage.

A blacksite. Not as large as the Post Office but secure enough to hold the prisoner before his transfer to…..where? Back to D.C. or another unknown site where he'll be locked away for good and well beyond her reach?

The thought sends a frisson of fear through her and she knows immediately what she must do. Bide her time and use the confusion to her benefit. It isn't long before a command center starts taking shape to investigate the crash. She takes no part in it and instead moves silently to the back of the room. With the other agent's attention diverted by the first images of the wreckage coming on screen, she turns a blind eye and slips through the door.

Sam always told her a person could gain entry into any secure building in the world if they were confident enough to simply keep walking, and that is precisely what Liz does. Follows the armed guards as if they are bread crumbs leading the way and doesn't give any of them the opportunity to question her authority there.

At last the trail ends with a single guard blocking her path. She brushes past without a second thought, interrupting his inquiry with a wave of a hand and Director Cooper's name called back before the rest of her statement is cut off by the closing of the door.

And there he is. In a simple barred cell, cuffed to the steel bench on which he sits facing away from her. His head is bowed and the image of that first day floods back. She had watched him for several minutes after her arrival while Cooper briefed her on the situation. Same posture as now. Head bowed and perfectly still, shutting out everything around him. Suddenly he had looked up as if he knew she was there, his eyes finding hers immediately.

Just as the memory passes through her mind his head raises and she hears him whisper.

_Lizzy._

As if he had been waiting for her and when she walks around to the front, he is already smiling. The one reserved for her. They could be anywhere in the world and it would greet her every time he sees her again.

"Red, I…"

That is all as the words catch in her throat.

There is just the faintest tremble in her hands as she reaches out to hold onto the bars separating them. He follows them with his gaze and understands. Were he standing, he'd do the same.

"Lizzy, I'll confess to being very pleased to see you. I don't imagine this visit has been sanctioned by the powers that be."

"You would be correct," she murmurs.

"Then I admire your tenacity in finding this charming room."

She's watching him, studying him and can recognize that this is not the same man that met her that first day. Annoyingly glib and with the very clear intent of throwing her completely off-guard. Not so today as a deeper emotion runs beneath the bravado. That same emotion directed her steps today. First to the park and now his cell.

Glancing at the cuffs on his wrists she finally says, "I never wanted this."

"You set the meeting, Lizzy, so I imagine this is exactly what you wanted."

But there is no accusation within his words and surprisingly she'll be damned if he doesn't sound just a little amused.

"Well yes, when you put it like that," she concedes. "It was because of Sam, you know that. I want to be done with all this."

"There is nothing I want more for you but we are only at the beginning, I'm afraid."

She can't comprehend what that may mean. After all that has happened to think that there is no end in sight overwhelms her and she tightens her grip on the bars.

"Why didn't you run? Why did you stay knowing you'd have to surrender?

But she already has the answer. He won't say it, won't acknowledge the sacrifice, but he doesn't have to. It was for her.

And as she surmised, no reply is forthcoming. Just a smile as he takes in every feature. The tilt of her head and the crinkle above her eyes as she puzzles over him. He fixes this moment in his memory to add with the others he has collected since knowing her.

"Red, I need you to—"

He never hears her request as her absence and current location have been discovered by the agents in charge and more specifically Director Cooper looking none too pleased.

And just like that she is gone.

* * *

The door behind slams with a resounding thud leaving him alone again. Only there remains a charge in the air where the memory of her lingers. Twice in one day she has sought him out, to intercede in one way or another. He can still imagine her there and slowly the steel of his prison and the bars that separated them fade. The restraints no longer pain his wrists and in his mind they are anywhere but here.

Hours go by or perhaps it is only minutes but she must surely have returned to D.C. by now. He keeps her there with him and waits.

Until a second chance arrives in the form of Fitch offering him an opportunity for escape and a warning. They are all in danger. And the restraints cut tighter and the transfer seems interminably long as does the distance between himself and Lizzy. He must warn her. Why couldn't they have had a few more minutes together?

Just a little while longer. This is always his wish where they are concerned, but most especially today with that plane crash that is no simple accident. The war isn't coming but has arrived at last.

He is prepared and when the staged transfer commences he is already planning the call he will make to her. The collision with the tree wasn't exactly part of the plan and although he is rattled, he is also very much free, for the moment at least. Enough time to relay the message, to hear her voice again. The task force is now a target and he hopes like hell he finds Berlin before Berlin finds them.

It is not to be.

Like so many instances in his life the warning came too late or simply would not have made a difference. He and Dembe have not long arrived back at the safe house before Lizzy walks through the door with the news.

Meera.

The first to fall and it is cold comfort that she realizes the identities of the task force could only have come from Tom, that his crimes can no longer be hidden. Meera's children will never understand why. They will only bear the loss.

A puzzle with too many pieces. A battle with an enemy they cannot find. Questions with no easy answers. Diversions drawing their attention away from what is truly important.

_How is my father involved in this?_

_What I do know is this, Sam's involvement was as your father and no one can pervert or distort that. Right now, our task is to identify our enemy. Our enemy today._

Trying to focus her attention on the present, on what the future will be. He fears she no longer believes in one.

And as happens in war, the enemy claims another. Cooper this time with the uncertainty whether he will survive the night.

She is locked somewhere in the past, still seeking answers about Sam, and of course the reason is clear. The urge to run from this is pulling at her with only the unanswered questions preventing her flight. It is her choice. He will not stop her and so offers the only answer he can.

_The way Sam told the story was that one night an old friend showed up at his door. Scared. The friend told Sam he was leaving town, that he was in danger, and that he needed someone to care for a little girl. That her father had died that night in a fire._

She will not learn his name. If she is to believe in the truth of his story then that knowledge would put her in grave danger. Well, she's already in grave danger but sets that aside for now. Is she to believe what he tells her? The reason for Sam's death, the secrecy? All of it?

_I loved Sam, Lizzy...of all the difficult things I've done that may be the most._

It comes down to this. Does she trust him and there is no other answer but  _yes_. When it would have been so easy to lie to her about this most  _difficult_   _thing_ , Red chose to tell her the truth risking an irreversible fracture between them. Knowing he might possibly lose his freedom permanently but he answered  _yes_  when he could have said anything at all. For that alone, she is able to believe him.

* * *

There are some images the mind would never conjure but become reality nevertheless. Meera dying in her arms. Tom with a gun trained on her. Her hands holding that same weapon as it fires once, twice, a third time, throwing him back against the wall. Cooper on life support and the tear-stained faces of his wife and daughters.

Walking through her home the final time before leaving it forever. Alone.

How different from the first time she arrived here with her husband. Everything before them as they started this new life in a new city. All the dreams she had and now every single one is broken. Nothing remains except her work and even that is precarious following the events of the past week. The house is now an empty shell with most of her belongings having been donated and the rest in storage. Even Hudson won't be returning as there is simply nothing left to come home to.

Nothing but the memory of cold steel to her temple and the grip of Tom's hand holding her in place to shield him from Reddington. A weapon lowered in order to save her and the peril as he walked straight into the line of fire. How everything has changed. Her husband is now her enemy and Red is now her….

She searches for the right word but it won't come. Whatever they are to one another is not easily defined and why should it matter now that he is leaving. The hotel room is closing in and she leaves to walk off the nervous energy. An attempt to clear her mind, but her thoughts won't let her be.

_Are you hurt?_ A gun to her head and Red lowering his weapon.  _Make the right choice, Tom._ Gunshots, one after the other after the other.

The bile rises in her throat and she breathes in slowly afraid she will be sick there on the sidewalk. What is wrong with her? She had told him to go as the pain in his expression tore through her, but she can't carry his sorrow as well as her own. Doesn't he know that?

_Make the right choice._

It is better this way. Berlin will be found and it will be over.  _Not for Meera's children._ The thought spurs her on and she continues blindly down the busy city streets, simply moving with the flow of the afternoon crowd. Perhaps they know which way to turn because she most certainly does not.

_Make the right choice._

What was it he said to her the last time they spoke? Has it really been only hours ago? It feels like days have passed. A lifetime.

_Lizzy, there's something I want you to understand about your father, Sam. That night when he took you in, without hesitation, Sam made a difficult choice that changed the course of his life. And that's where you find yourself now. You can turn away and run from it, you can hide from it, and if you choose to do that I'll fly away. Or you can face it and confront it. Engage it. And maybe, maybe you prevail and rise above it._

The decision was hers but at the shake of her head she left him no choice.  _I understand. I'll be on a plane tonight._

Sam choosing to adopt her. Red choosing to surrender. Tom choosing to target her. Berlin choosing to use her as bait. All these decisions affecting her life both to her benefit and detriment.

And she told him to go because she wanted to be free of it all. No, she hadn't even spoken, simply shook her head because she knew deep down the words would never have come. Passively giving up and she realizes she is a stranger to herself. Damn it all, what has she done? Moving to the curb she hopes to hell there will be a taxi nearby.

_Make the right choice._

Perhaps there is still time to make right at least one wrong decision.

* * *

He has waited all day, telling Dembe there is no rush in readying the plane. There is plenty of time after all. Who is he kidding? Certainly not his friend who dropped the subject until the late afternoon but finally he had placed a hand on his arm.  _Raymond, it is time._

No argument and very little conversation follows as both men are lost in thought about the days ahead. Red's movements are slower, taking him longer to pack for the flight. Weighed down by regret and something he can't seem to name. It presses in on him when he thinks of not seeing her again or the shake of her head at the moment he realized she had made her choice.

How unexpected it is just like the moment he saw her all those months ago when he looked up to find her studying him through the glass of the box. Her smile and obvious relief when he walked through her door after the incursion. His hand held in hers as she studied the injury to it.

A thousand things and he could name each one but cannot do the same for this ache deep inside as he closes the door for the final time. They will never let him be.  _She_ will never let him be.

And just like that she is there.

Another moment he will store away. The taxi driving off as she walks a few paces in his direction. The breeze blowing her hair about her face. Her gaze never wavering from his own. He will remember it all his days.

As will she. The relief at arriving in time and the smile that greets her. The one she can't help but think belongs to her and how thankful she is to see it after the hell they have come through.

Forcing her feet to keep moving she closes the distance to him and answers the question held in his expression, "I want you to stay."

"I would like nothing better, Lizzy."

He'd have thought the ache would subside with her presence but it deepens and takes hold. Not altogether unpleasant or even unfamiliar. Only a very long time since he has felt anything close to it, this thing he will not name.

They make their way inside and stop at the staircase where they sit for a time, neither knowing how to begin until Lizzy finally breaks the silence. Repeating Tom's last words that her father is alive and Red reaffirming what he had previously told her.

_Lizzy, look at me. I'm telling you with no uncertainty, your father is dead. He died in that fire._

The truth remains. She sees it in every part of his expression, hears it in every word.

"That man, Berlin, he's out there."

"Yes. And we'll find him."

"To think he was there in the hospital all that time and we had no idea."

"We will find him, Lizzy," he repeats with all the conviction he can muster. "There will be an end to this."

"We have someone else to locate in addition to Berlin," and as he turns back to look at her, she continues. "Whoever led him to believe you killed his daughter. That individual is also your enemy."

He is taken aback for a moment. She is absolutely correct regarding this unknown player in the game and he will have to give some thought to this in the days to come. But that is only a part of his surprise.

"You didn't ask if I was actually responsible," he says quietly, still studying her profile until she turns to face him before answering.

"I don't need to, Red. I know enough of you to realize you would not commit the act he described. A man who anonymously set up a trust for Meera's children would not intentionally harm an enemy's child. Don't deny it, I know it was you."

He is not often rendered speechless but he finds himself completely at a loss. There is too much treachery in his world to easily accept trust when it comes his way.

"Thank you for that, by the way."

A single nod is her answer and after a minute or two she rises wanting to walk a little.

"Lizzy, may I ask you something?"

She turns back where he remains on the stairs. "Of course."

"When you came to see me in the cell, just before they ordered you to leave, you started to say something.  _I need you to_...but you never finished. What do you need?"

She had almost forgotten in the confusion of the ensuing days.

"I need you to tell me about the night of the fire. Which you have since done or at least have in part, but…"

"What else?" he prompts as she falters for a moment.

"I need you to tell me about this," and she holds out her wrist indicating the scar. "I have a feeling it is very similar to those on your back. I'm also now fairly convinced there is a reason your injuries were so severe as compared to my own."

"Lizzy—"

"You don't have to say anything now and especially not if you are going to deny it. This is not the same as the trust you set up. This is me and I'm not going to let it go. The one who was saved deserves to hear the full account."

He's looking distinctly uncomfortable as he does when backed into a corner. It isn't shock that she is aware of his scarred back because it really isn't a secret. It is all right there in his FBI file after all. It is that another barrier will come down with the telling of his part in her rescue. Something he finds difficult, to say the least, and with a smile she decides to push him no further.

"Come on. You can give me a ride to my hotel."

He follows, but as they reach the door, she stops. "How is your arm?"

"Arm?"

"Yes, Red, your arm. Where you were shot. Did the bullet pass through or—"

"Just a graze, I assure you. I've had—"

"Worse," she interrupts with a small laugh. "Yes, so you've said. It's just..."

He hadn't even realized she knew, but there is little she does not notice. He has learned this much about her by now.

"What, Lizzy?"

"You walked toward the gun for me and if anything had happened…"

Her voice has dropped to a mere whisper and she reaches out to place a hand over the exact spot on his upper arm. Lightly so as not the hurt him and he barely feels her touch there. Giving into the need for some contact with her, he rests his hand over hers. "Nothing happened."

His thumb move back and forth and she smiles at the little habit she recognizes. One meant to reassure her and it does. With a nod she continues through the door and stops, waiting for him to put his hand through the crook of her elbow. As she knew he would.

"Now tell me about this hotel."

"Just temporary until I figure out where to go."

He could say the same but at least he is still  _here_  with the hope they will reach the end of this journey together. Her words come back to him then.  _The one who was saved._ She was referring to herself but little does she know in this as well, he could say the same. An hour ago he wondered if he would see her again and later as she turns to wave before entering the lobby of the hotel, he has the answer.

Tomorrow, and it can't come soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would say I used more canon dialogue in this chapter than any other, but I felt it was important here. In my opinion 1.14 and 1.22 have always been the most pivotal in terms of mythology in addition to the Stewmaker picture I suppose. Before Lizzy's backstory became so convoluted and retconned there was the simple facts laid out in the s1 finale. Her biological father died in the fire and her connection to him would place her in danger. Seems easy enough so in terms of this fic we probably won't get more complicated than that. We’ll see what Red has to say about it later.


	13. Disconnect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline 2.1 - 2.2
> 
> So we’ve reached season two aka the season of angst, retcons, angsty retcons etc. No doubt this will be a little toned down but for now we’re still following canon. Which means dun dun dun you’ll never guess what Liz has hidden behind that door. Not to worry though, he will not be staying forever.
> 
> In other news, eight weeks have passed since Berlin crash-landed. Hudson is now living quite happily with Lizzy's friend who takes him to the park everyday where she keeps bumping into another dog walker and well as things seem to happen…..all thanks to Hudson that little cupid. So no worries he’s good.
> 
> Lastly, let’s just assume Carla/Naomi is Red’s ex-wife and Jennifer is his long lost daughter. I can’t possibly handle anything more complicated than that at this point. 
> 
> Okay, thanks for reading and let the angst commence!

_She stands on the ledge_  
_She says, 'it looks so high'_  
_You know it's a_  
_Long way down  
_ _Feels like a long way down_

* * *

"Where are you?"

"Lizzy, since you called the sat phone you must know I'm currently airborne."

She can see him there on his jet, feet propped up, swirling a scotch glass and that amusingly indulgent smile on his face as he explains what is abundantly clear. It is at times like this she'd like to throttle him. Weeks of these calls finding him in some different spot on the globe and every answer to her questions more cryptic than the last. Well, enough is enough.

"Reddington, I want details."

"I'd say we're somewhere between the Tropic of Cancer and the Equator. Now if you want the latitude and longitude…."

He believes her exasperated sigh could reach him all the way across the Atlantic even without the phone and decides to stop pushing his luck.

"Next stop Cameroon. Should be landing in a few hours and-"

"Why? Do you have information Berlin is in Africa? What's in Cameroon?"

He wishes he had answers for her but where their enemy is concerned, unfortunately, he has very little to offer. Berlin has gone to ground, it is as simple as that. In the two months since he crashed on the shores of New York, not a trace has been found leading to his current location.

"It seems Berlin has one, two or several bounty hunters in his employ. I've already dealt with the first but the gentleman I will be speaking with likely knows the names of the others that have been hired. We need to identify specifically who they are tracking. Myself, obviously, but also anyone else being hunted."

"Was that so hard? Why is getting information from you like pulling teeth?"

"There are ears everywhere, Lizzy. We cannot be too careful."

Her silence signals he has survived this little skirmish, but there will without doubt be more battles ahead. Taking a sip of whiskey, he waits for her next barrage of questions but she ends the call with a simple  _I expect to hear from you._ All in all he made it through fairly unscathed.

Two months following leads that have generally taken them nowhere and he'll confess to being as frustrated as she. Any hope of finding Berlin quickly, faded as the days turned to weeks which are now turning to months. He is like a ghost and Red can only hope his attention is now diverted away from Lizzy. She is still vulnerable and there is precious little he can do about it. Something else he discovered rather quickly, her stubbornness is boundless.

No, she will not accept accommodations in a safe house, thank you, a motel is fine. And no, a more secure hotel will not do as the economy lodging offering zero protection is perfectly adequate. They have gone round and round the issue until he finally dropped the subject and put an associate near her anyway. Something he'd have sworn never to come close to doing again, but any guilt he feels somehow doesn't hold up under the weight of Agent Malik bleeding out on the floor of a nightclub. He will keep Lizzy safe even if he has to fight her every step of the way.

* * *

He is too late, always too late.

If he hadn't been so absurdly taken by Mossad perhaps he would have discovered the true target of the bounty hunter with time to move her to safety. Surprisingly, it is not himself nor any member of the task force but rather his former wife. Someone that was once considered family and that is precisely what Berlin is after so that she may be delivered back to him piece by piece.

Horrific to think of what has occurred, the injuries inflicted, and as always happens any thoughts of his ex-wife invariably lead to his daughter. A place he guards fiercely and only occasionally enters. Yet now he must in order to insure her safety for he feels certain Jennifer was Berlin's first choice.

There is no other option but to seek information from the task force as to his daughter's whereabouts, something he swore never to do.

The illusion must be upheld, after all. The abandonment followed by a permanent separation meant as a clear sign to those that would be interested, it is no use using them as leverage over him. When the day came that he had to run he did just that and never went near them again. A way for Carla to be free of what had become an unhappy union but most importantly a chance his child could have a normal life. Hidden, protected and anonymous. The only gift he had left to give her. That it nearly destroyed him, she would never know.

When Lizzy arrives with the information, he easily bypasses her question about Carla as his eyes fall to the folder in her hand. Whatever it contains regarding his daughter, he has waited two decades to discover, but just as quickly she slips through his fingers.

_What have you learned about Jennifer?_

_I confirmed your daughter was placed in protective custody with her mother in 1990. The Marshal Service lost contact seven years ago. She is unaccounted for._

Like a lake of heat on a scorching road she vanishes from view as he draws nearer. Forever beyond his reach.

And so he will choose another path as he has always done. Give Lizzy the details of the current blacklister, this time in the form of a bank catering to all manner of criminal organizations. There is the smallest chance it may present an opportunity to smoke Berlin out from his hiding place with a threat posed against his wealth.

'Was there anything else?" he finally asks when she makes no move for the door.

He needs her to assemble the task force, investigate the bank. Continue their routine and not push at him when this old wound has been torn open. She is too close sitting there next to him. Searching his eyes and gauging his reaction to the news of Jennifer.

"Red, I'm…"

_I'm sorry, so very sorry_. She lets the words die in her throat. There is no getting through his shuttered expression and maybe it isn't for her to attempt it. He does not want her in the place where the grief for his daughter dwells. Perhaps it is that he simply cannot bear it.

_Let this go, Lizzy._

"Alright," she whispers as if the words were spoken out loud.

She does what he is unable to ask and exits the suite, leaving him to his memories and regrets.

* * *

"Ditto."

He is startled from his position at the window as he gazes out at the Capitol dome and turns to find Lizzy leaning against the wall. Exactly as she had not ten minutes ago when he thanked her for saving his life and she reminded him the responsibility of letting Berlin go would rest on his shoulders. When something very close to anger waited there under the surface, moving between them as seems to happen with increasing frequency lately.

_You're an asset I'm charged with protecting. I transferred the money to keep you safe. I was just doing my job._

Her words cutting deep but so had his own earlier in the day. She was one step ahead of him this time, freezing Berlin's accounts that would be used to trade for Carla's life. Opposite sides once again and the anger spilled over.

_I'm sorry._

_No, you're not. Not yet. Maybe someday if you're very lucky, you might wonder, "At exactly what point did I become this thing?" But not now. Right now, you're just doing your job._

Perhaps anger is only a small part of it. Grief and loss are there as well, mixed with the truth neither is able to share. They are as familiar to him as the clothes he wears or the scotch in his hand, so often have they stretched the hours through the night preventing his rest as they are doing right now.

It seems he is not the only keeper of secrets, for how could she have known about Berlin's money. True, she released the accounts at the last minute to save Carla's life and by extension his own, but it doesn't answer the simple question. How did she know?

There was a time he had begun to read the expressions of her face, her smiles rare though they sometimes were. The worry on her brow or tilt of her head. Usually as she watched him, attempting to read him in turn. Both searching out a place of understanding and for a brief moment after the imposter was revealed they had found it. How fleeting it became as he left her for days, weeks at a time in pursuit of their adversary. All the while her sorrow and bitterness grew as she retreated further and further.

Until they had found themselves here in his suite with miles in between and a universe of words left unspoken.

_Lizzy, don't be absurd. I don't have any friends._

What a bitter taste they left in his mouth but honest nonetheless. He had washed the bitterness away with the scotch as he gazed out at a city filled with deception and hypocrisy. How fitting this should be his view tonight.

Yet here she is again.  _Ditto_.

"To which part, Lizzy?"

She moves further into the room intending to meet him at the window but decides to take a detour to the bar for a glass. The bottle is close to him which is never a good sign, but she makes no comment as she joins him. Attempting to ignore the intensity of his gaze, she pours out the drink and purposefully turns to look out the window. Congratulates herself on not choking as the scalding liquid burns down her throat. She is stalling and he's letting her.

The return to his suite had been impulsive to say the least. She'd simply spun on her heel as she reached the bank of elevators and quietly slipped through the door. It felt wrong to leave it where they had but now that she's here it's difficult to know where to begin.

He's on the brink of repeating his question when she finally responds, "To all of it, I suppose.  _When you're ready to share, I'd love to hear._ Yes, I'd say the same to you. You're upset I had intel from another source which is a variable you don't often have to deal with. Well, welcome to my world the last 12 months. You want me to share but you won't do the same."

"What would you like me to share exactly?" Dangerous grounds but he asks it anyway.

Finally, she turns to look at him with nothing short of astonishment. "Are you joking? All of it and then some, but we could start with your ex-wife. What is her condition? Where have you taken her and when may I speak with her?"

Silence follows and why would she expect differently. A flash of the exasperation she is all too familiar with spurs her onto the subject she's been afraid to go near.

"What about your daughter, Red? I dropped the subject earlier and in this I understand not wanting to speak of it, but my god you just learned her whereabouts are unknown. Is there nothing you have to say about this? And you want  _me_  to be forthcoming?"

This wasn't her intention. Had no plan to unleash all the pent up frustration that has been building.

"You tell me and I tell you, remember?" she whispers at last when he still hasn't spoken.

She wonders just then if she could be as honest with him, knowing what her own secrets are. The ugliness she hides and fears everyday will be revealed.

"I wish it could be different…"

Her answer at last as neither are willing to cross the line that now divides them. Taking one last sip, she sets the glass firmly on the table and walks toward the door. What was the point when all they do is move in circles around each other accomplishing nothing.

But she stops, remembering what she could not leave alone and turning, she finally says what it was that brought her back, "You're wrong."

"Yes, I'm sure," he murmurs, the exhaustion evident in his voice. "To what do you refer specifically?"

"That you don't have friends. We both know that isn't true and your statement was meant only for me."

"Lizzy…"

He is at a loss and fears doing more damage than they've already managed to inflict.

"What are we, Red? What is all this?" she asks with a sweep of her hand indicating the emptiness between them. "Everyday I wonder and everyday I still have no idea. And judging by your comment, you could say the same."

"Or _ditto_." A hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth and tinged with the melancholy that has settled over the room.

"That too. Let me know if you ever find the answer."

She's gone and doesn't return. He stays by the window and the bottle slowly empties as he imagines her out there on the way to the motel that makes him cringe just picturing it. They might as well be on two different continents.

Except for the briefest moment tonight when they'd come close to….something neither has an explanation for.  _What are we, Red?_ A pain no amount of scotch will numb and he no longer wants it to. He'd rather let the sorrow engulf him than be left with the aching void of her absence.

She senses it, too. Sitting in her car long after she should have begun her journey across town, blinking back tears that suddenly formed and refusing to let them fall. They should be on the same side, seeking the same enemy, yet they are as disconnected from the other as they possibly could be.

And if she were honest with herself, she already knows her part in what has gone so horribly wrong. It is buried deep within the rusted hull of a ship waiting to drag her to the bottom of the sea.

Had she only known then what was to come, she'd have walked through his door a third and final time and laid bare this terrible thing. If she only knew how often her mind will return to this night when she held onto the lies instead of letting them go and placing them in the hand of another. Trusting enough to do that. But she has no idea what the future holds, only that it has grown very late and with a sigh, she merges into traffic and drives away.


	14. Mind's Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline 2.3
> 
> Honestly I think Bokenkamp’s tweet the night this episode aired says it all so I'll defer to the creator of the show on this one:
> 
> _A little overly sexy Lizzington_
> 
> Indeed.

_Come a long way_  
_Just to say_  
_Doesn't matter when it mattered yesterday_  
_And tomorrow ain't too far away…_  
_From small beginnings  
_ _Come big endings_

* * *

She's curious why he's wearing a tux and looks back to Cooper, but the control center is dark. In fact, she sees no other agents stationed anywhere nearby. Doesn't see much of anything as the only light seems to come from inside the box. The one whose door is now opening as it pulls back leaving the two of them facing each other.

But where is everyone and why is he smiling at her like that? Why is she here? Again, she looks around uncertainly, feels the sensation of spinning in a circle and wonders if it is herself or the room making the turn.

Footsteps on concrete and he begins walking toward her. With purpose. Where there was fear a moment ago, only curiosity remains. Did he surrender in the tux? Shadowy now as the light is behind him and she leans forward a little, trying to see his expression. Sensing there is some answer there if only he'd move back into the light.

"It's only a hand, Lizzy."

He's reaching out, still with that smile in his eyes that she perceives again now that he is close. Waiting for her to decide. Her choice, always her choice.

His touch is soft and warm when she takes it and the room is spinning.

"Someone is coming," she whispers at the sound of footsteps.

But they're dancing and she never wants to stop. Never wants to raise her head from where it rests on his chest.

The tapping is incessant, growing louder. Why can't they go down another corridor in the embassy and leave them alone?

He's already pulling away.

"Don't…"

 _Don't go_  and she holds on tighter and hears a chuckle close to her ear, just as Hudson bumps her leg to get her attention. The tapping ceases with his arrival.

"I won't go, Lizzy."

His breath is moving along her cheek now.

"Stay."

Her voice she hears as he draws nearer.

"Open your eyes," he murmurs so closely she feels the vibration of his words against her mouth.

She does just that and they're in the park sitting on the steps of the gazebo with the sun breaking through the trees. He is still there holding her hand with the light falling across his face just so, drawing her attention to the green of his eyes.

It is she that draws nearer this time until everything blurs.

"Raymond, I…"

* * *

She wakes with a start and sits up in a rush attempting to get her bearings. Just her drab motel room looking back at her and she rubs her hands over her exhausted eyes to clear her mind.

 _Only a dream,_ she thinks and promptly flies off the bed at the knock on her door. Her heart that was only just beginning to slow, picks up speed and without thinking she places her hand there while the other opens the door.

And it would be Red at a time like this. He's never before come to her room. The few times he has been to the succession of motels she has called home these last months, he made a point to meet her downstairs. But not today. Why today of all days?

He takes in everything at once. Her breath coming in rapid succession, the hand at her chest and tousled appearance.

This was clearly a mistake and taking a step back he mumbles, "Pardon me, Lizzy. I'll just be on my way—"

 _Oh, for god's sake,_ realizing she must make quite a sight at two in the afternoon on a Wednesday.

Lord knows what he's thinking and at any other time she'd find the situation amusing but with the dream still replaying in her mind, she is embarrassingly flustered. Ah well, he's here and there must be a reason that brought him to her door.

"Come in," she says, waving him back toward the room. "Whatever you're thinking, stop. I was in a dead sleep."

_Not that dead._

Ignoring the voice in her head she indicates the chair in the corner and turns to pull on a sweater, feeling a little too exposed in just a tank and jeans. She needs layers and distance until she can get her nervous system back under control.

Moving to the head of the bed she glances up just in time to see him rub his palms along his thighs and adjust his vest a time or two. These mannerisms are more than familiar to her now, and knowing his always in control demeanor has been rattled helps calm her.

"Is anything the matter?"

It takes a moment before he understands her meaning. Did something occur that necessitated his coming here and not a reference to his obvious agitation.

"No, no. Nothing the matter and I must apologize for waking you. I tried to call but your phone…"

"...is on silent," she finishes for him when he trails off.

She follows his gaze around her cheap motel room and is amused at the contrast to his thousand dollar a night suits. But no, that is only what is on the surface and she recalls her profile of him when they first met. Not entirely accurate, she now realizes. Yes, he would be comfortable sleeping in a cave with rebels as she had said and certainly he has passed a night in far worse accommodations than her current living arrangement. However, it is her other statement that bothers her suddenly.

_You're a loner. You keep your distance...your closest friends are strangers. You understand that tight bonds can make you vulnerable so you're careful not to have any._

Perhaps true where the world at large is concerned, but not within  _his_  world. She only need observe him with Dembe or Mr. Kaplan to see the flaw in her assessment. That is how these things sometimes happen. As a subject reveals more of themselves, the profile evolves.

Well, he is hardly a subject anymore, she must admit, and as for the revealing aspect, where should she begin? He's like peeling an onion and just about as enjoyable.

"What are you smiling at?"

She didn't know she was and what on earth made her think of that night at the restaurant?

_It was the dream._

Her unconscious mind seems intent on doing her in today and now is not the time to think about the dreams. Not with him currently filling up the space of this tiny room and throwing her off balance.

"No reason," she says but seeing that he has returned it, she relaxes immediately. "So if nothing is wrong then why…"

"...am I here?" His turn to finish as she stopped, not wanting the question to sound rude.

"I suppose I wanted to check on you after our conversation last night. It isn't my intention that we work in opposition, Lizzy. I hope you know that."

"Yes, but I will get the answers I need with or without you. However, I don't want a war with you as well as the one with Berlin."

His sigh of resignation is audible to both. Not much can be said on the subject without rehashing the previous evening's arguments. In truth, he had needed to see her, to erase their bitter exchange from his mind, but to stay might lead to another.

Rising and taking his fedora from the table, he moves toward the door. "I'll say good afternoon then. I expect we'll see each other in a day or so."

"Goodbye R..Red," she stumbles and though he looks at her a bit curiously, he doesn't comment and quietly shuts the door behind him.

Flopping onto her back on the bed, she finally exhales the breath she seems to have been holding since he walked in. She had very nearly called him by his given name just as she had in the dream. She also can't help wondering what she was going to say to him before the man himself woke her up.

* * *

This needs to stop.

Now he is frustrating her sleeping self as much as when she is awake. She had thought it a fluke the first time. The side effects of working in such close quarters with him and the stress following Berlin's arrival. Until it happened again and again after that. Too many times now to count. Not every night but often enough that she can no longer laugh it off or explain it away. Raymond Reddington seems to have invaded her dreams and isn't showing much inclination to leave.

_Raymond._

That was unexpected. As was the very first dream which remains vividly clear even after all this time. His voice, a small laugh and she went toward it. Searching till she found him in the cell after he surrendered to her. Somehow opening the barred door, she walked through and they were in the restaurant in Montreal. Reaching across the table he had brushed his fingers across the scar on her wrist and took her hand.  _You can trust me._  The sensation of his touch still so real it seems like a memory.

Beyond the pleasant feeling it stirred she pushed it from her thoughts until the next one and on and on. The events of their acquaintance jumbled into a strange story that often made little sense but at other times she stopped to wonder. What are they telling her? What is she telling herself?

 _I'm his girlfriend from Ann Arbor_ when Madeline appeared in Wujing's bunker and accused her of being an imposter.

Walking into the Post Office and finding it transformed into the speakeasy club where they went to gather information on the Kingmaker. There he sat waving her over as the agents of the task force milled about and Aram played poker with Dembe one booth over. And he lit that damn cigar again and she could not ignore the disappointment when her alarm woke her.

There is no pattern to them. They come whether he his in town or across the globe. Sometimes several nights in a row and then days where he leaves her in peace only to surface again unexpectedly.

The door of the box opening and Red standing there with the tailor being fitted for a suit.  _I prefer the gray._ She recalls saying it with perfect clarity and the fact that she knew precisely which suit she was referencing or that she absolutely prefers it made her bury her head under the pillow.

 _Oh my god,_ she muttered a few days later when he wore the blasted thing and her scowl drew him up short.

"Lizzy, is everything—"

"I'm fine. It's all fine."

It was anything but fine. She doesn't understand much of what is happening these days, she'll confess. Too many things have transpired and it feels like a series of reactions and not her actual life, but one thing is for sure. She doesn't have time for this.

* * *

Her eyes fly open and land on the glasses placed with purpose on her bedside table. So she would see them immediately and know he is still able to reach her. That she is not yet free.

There is the fleeting realization the gun is no longer under her pillow just as a noise has her springing to the other side of the bed to switch on the light.

_Looking for this?_

Tom with her weapon trained on her.

_He is using you._

The barrel pointed at her chest as she fights for air.

_Has he told you anything about that night? About the fire?_

The imposter speaking to her about another's secrets. That person now crashing through the door, gun drawn. Raymond.

_You should have killed him when you had the chance. You should have finished it._

Gunshots. She counts them off in her head. One. Two. Three. Four. And finally Tom is silent. Finally her mind is calm and the fear subsides for he has done what she could not.

Spinning to face her, he brings the weapon down.

_What do you want, Agent Keen?_

For the first time she becomes aware of her position on the bed. Hand holding onto the headboard. The blanket a tangle at her feet leaving her uncovered and exposed.

She can't seem to move, makes no attempt to cover herself. Can't seem to take her eyes from his as he advances toward the bed. Counting each step as he comes nearer. Six paces and he is right next to her, so close she could reach out and…

_What do you really want?_

* * *

She wakes for real this time and judging by her body's reaction to this latest dream, she has the answer to his question.

Well, that's too bad and besides, she doesn't have time for this.

One long shower later, she hears her phone ring and knows without looking.  _Nick's Pizza._ Of course, because apparently this is the kind of day she's going to have.

"Yes." The sharpness that she despises and can't seem to soften lately. Sometimes she thinks the only thing left of her are rough edges. Jagged pieces that would be a danger for anyone else to come near.

"Lizzy, did I catch you at a bad time?"

How she'd love to tell him to stop with the nocturnal visits and let her have a moment's rest but seeing as that isn't really an option she opts instead for a few deep breaths.

"No, I'm fine. It's fine."

 _My god, I need a new line,_  she thinks, but there's no time to come up with one.

"I have a case. I know a charming spot where we can meet and discuss. Outside as it's a lovely day with refreshments nearby."

A new blacklister and it is time to get back to the business of finding Berlin. There is also the matter of Naomi Hyland aka Carla Reddington and if he thinks that subject is closed, he can think again.

* * *

What a morning.

First, the dream and then pulling a gun on a complete stranger for no other reason than he was walking through the same parking lot as she. What is happening to her? Is she not going to stop until she loses all control?

She waits for him at the table, staring purposely at her hands while he walks her way and rubbing at the scar that seems to bother her today.

_Where's Naomi Hyland?_

Before he has a chance to say anything. Before he can distract her. However, it is more of the same as he has no intention of letting her speak with his ex-wife. She is being well hidden and if it is the last thing she does, Liz intends to find that safe house.

He deftly steers the conversation to the case and she drops the subject of Naomi. There is no point and she'll just have to find another way.

"Slushie?" he says with gusto signaling the end of his list of facts regarding Dr. Covington.

"Pass."

"Oh my gosh, you have no idea what you're missing. Try a grapefruit gusher. It's just like you today, a little sour."

He's right, she is a little sour and not just regarding the dream or Naomi. It is everything but mostly these secrets she still clings to. Not sure how to proceed and unwilling to ask for help as they eat away at her leaving more razor sharp edges to add to all the others.

And so she waits for the slushie but when she rises to leave he says quietly, "Stay a few minutes. This is a good place to watch the city go by."

And so she stays because she wants to feel anything but bad for once. Wants the sunshine and the late summer day. Wants to sit with him even in silence as they are right now. Both a little afraid of conversation leading to another arguement. The solitude is comforting and by the time the slushies have disappeared she feels better than she has in days.

It doesn't change anything. She is still going to search for Naomi and he'll still try to divert her. She'll probably still have a dream now and then and there's not much she can do about it. Just the same….

"I like it here."

He can already tell, has already noticed the hardness leaving her features. How he hopes it will stay away permanently but he doesn't kid himself. She has endured too much to come out unscathed.

"On this we agree," and he smiles seeing her do the same.

"Well, thanks for the slushie but I suppose..."

She'd rather sit here awhile longer and let the day fall away but the task force is waiting.

"...it's time to go. Have a good day, Lizzy." And watches as she walks to the car.

Wishing he could give her many good days.


	15. Cross Purposes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline 2.4 - 2.5
> 
> Thanks for reading!

_Whatever needs to be will be_  
_When there is nothing left to hide_  
_Whatever remains will set you free…_  
_All of the memories will return_  
_In the sleep like shallow scars  
_ _Whatever remains will set you free_

* * *

He held off going to the cabin for a day, then two. Left Naomi to deal with the first stages of her recovery before he must tell her the truth of the situation. That the possibility of returning to Philadelphia is out of the question.

Difficult to admit even to himself but he simply could not go to her. Not yet. This woman who is the one link between himself and Jennifer. If the Marshal's Service had lost touch with his daughter, surely her mother had not. And just as certainly, she will not be inclined to share that information with him.

On the third day, however, Dembe would not let the issue rest. At last they make the drive to the country where he arrives on her doorstep twenty-four years too late.

_You look so different._

_Not as different as you._

The impact of her hand is no surprise nor the taste of blood in his mouth. They were always adept at hurting one another.

Not in the beginning though and not with their child. If he had gone the route of naval officer, who knows, perhaps the marriage would have survived. Doubtful but they will never know since his intelligence work became the catalyst for all the destruction that followed.

She will never let him forget it. She doesn't have to as he has lived with the repercussions every moment since. Her anger comes in wave after wave and he takes the impact but in the end he is no closer to his daughter. She will not give up her location.

However, the past is not why he is here, it is her future that he cares about now. Very little love had survived to the end of their union but he will see her safe and attempt to do the same for Jennifer. He will convince the husband to go into hiding with her and use every threat possible to see that Frank cooperates.

And sooner rather than later it has all been arranged. He never doubted otherwise once the situation was properly explained to the husband. Just a few final arrangements and then he will breathe easier. Naomi will be beyond the reach of Berlin as well as removed from Lizzy.

It is a wonder she hasn't already managed to find their current location. He has learned never to underestimate her, but a meeting and discussion about the past is out of the question. The sooner Frank and Naomi Hyland disappear, the better for all concerned.

* * *

Her car comes into view as they approach the cabin and there is an immediate snicker from the front seat.

"Raymond, don't say anything you'll regret," Dembe advises. "You have to give her credit for finding this place."

Red doesn't feel the least inclined at the moment to give any credit where credit is due. All he needed was an hour, maybe less. Just enough time to see Naomi on her way, but it is not to be.

He dreads what he will overhear as he walks to the door and stops to listen to the voices within.

_He wants something from you. It's a game, it's a manipulation. He's made you feel a connection that makes you feel like you matter somehow. And there's no one on earth who can make a woman feel like the center of his universe more than Raymond Reddington._

_What does he want from me?_

For god's sake, he can run a criminal empire and evade capture for over twenty years but can't accomplish the simple task of preventing Lizzy finding this safe house and now there she sits discussing him with his ex-wife of all people.

Which forces him to break up this little tête-à-tête and part company with Naomi while Lizzy stares daggers into his back. Forced to hear the truth at last, that Jennifer left protective custody as a way to avoid him. More anger from Lizzy as she confronts him about the discovery of his associate assigned to protect her since Agent Malik's murder. Her insistence that he be removed leaving her completely unprotected from Berlin.

How did this day go so horribly wrong? How did they arrive at this breaking point?

He can leave it unsaid no longer.

_My associate saves your life and instead of saying "thank you," you try to get him fired. If I knew better I'd say you were hiding something._

Anger. Barely concealed by both and she leaves without a word, but what is there left to say? They have entered this ritual of push and pull accomplishing very little and with no foreseeable solution as there is now too much that both are unwilling to speak of.

* * *

How did this all go so horribly wrong?

Liz can't fathom it as she sits with Samar in the airport terminal. Both exposed to the pathogen, the other woman gravely injured.

When did the unraveling truly begin and just how far back would she have to go to find that answer? When was the last time she felt something other than blinding rage? Or fear? Or shame? It is all she knows and to feel anything else has now become the unfamiliar.

_You know everyone talks about it, right? They don't want to bring it up with you. Why you? Who is he to you?_

Of course she is aware of the whispers but she has no answer for Samar or anyone else. The last time her life made sense was the day before he surrendered. Yet everything he told her came to pass and all that remains is the two of them.

Perhaps that is why the resentment was so swift when Aram let slip that Red is searching for a young woman. Who else could it be but his daughter and without thinking she returned to his workroom to confront him. Never once stopping to consider why this should upset her so.

_Who told you she's my daughter?_

_You have no right to have anything to do with that girl. Not since the night you abandoned her._

He had accused her of jealousy and now shut away with the possibility no cure will be found, she can admit the truth of it. That it is irrational doesn't escape her either but this is something else she is all too familiar with these days.

It really has nothing to do with his daughter, she can at least recognize this. More to do with the stripping away of everything she had before and clinging to what remains. He is what remains and as fractured as they are, she fears that loss if he should leave.

How clear is her perception suddenly as she and Samar succumb to the effects of the virus. How desperately she wants to put right all the wrongs in her life and now there is no way to know if she will ever be given a chance to do so.

* * *

_They didn't get to us in time._

Her first thought but she doesn't dwell on what that may mean. There is only awareness that she is no longer in the airport terminal with Samar.

_Why is Elton here?_

Her second thought as  _Rocket Man_  fills the darkness around her. A clear sign that obviously the virus must have done its job. Why else would she be here, wherever  _here_  may be?

Forcing her eyes open she realizes she is in the brownstone and rises from the couch where she was sleeping. Elton is still singing but otherwise the overwhelming stillness of the place descends on her. As if the air hasn't been disturbed within these walls in a very long time.

She begins walking but immediately trips over the broken coffee table and looks around at the destruction. The broken bannister where Tom left her handcuffed but strangely she doesn't feel pain from the fight. Her ribs don't burn like fire as she takes in a breath.

A few steps toward the kitchen and she hears his voice from behind.

"Lizzy."

A whisper in her ear and there is no denying the shiver of anticipation that he is here. She doesn't turn but waits for him to step in front of her.

He's a little rumpled as if he's been waiting for her to wake but is smiling as he so often does when he sees her again.

"I've missed you." As soon as she says it she realizes the truth of her statement. "But I don't want to be here."

Also true. How did she return here to the ending of everything?

"Then we'll go," he murmurs with a hand outstretched.

She steps forward into his embrace and wishes them anywhere in the world other than that house.

* * *

Her next sensation is waking, curled on her side, in the dimly lit hospital room with Red dozing in the chair next to the bed. She thinks she must still be dreaming as Elton continues singing until her eyes fall on the phone next to her and now feels the sensation of the earbuds. She glances his way and wonders if he placed them there.

It must have been Red which somehow doesn't surprise her just as she's not shocked to see him at her side. In fact, she must have sensed his presence for why else would she dream of her old home in the aftermath of the fight with Tom. When she woke in the middle of the night and he was there in the chair across from her.

The emotion she tries to contain will no longer be held back. Not because she and Samar could have died or that they were saved. Not for the dream bringing to memory all the turmoil in her life. Not for the boat and what is hidden there.

For no other reason than she woke to music instead of silence and his presence instead of the crushing loneliness of her life now. Because he remembered a long ago conversation about favorite things. For the simple fact that she has missed him. Not simply his presence but that connection she barely understands and senses again tonight in the absence of the anger that has hung over them for weeks now.

She had not called to him that night in the brownstone but had let him rest. Watched him there in the quiet until sleep claimed her but she finds that impossible tonight. Doesn't want to wake in the morning and see only an empty chair and missed opportunities.

_Who is he to you?_

"Raymond."

He is instantly awake and sits up with relief and a smile spreading over his face, so similar to her dream. Says something but there is no sound and for the first time she feels fear. Has she been imagining all of this when in reality she is…

But understanding her uncertainty, he leans forward and removes the earbuds, silencing the music and his voice makes it through at last.

"I said,  _welcome back, Lizzy._   _How are you feeling?"_

"I'm glad we're here," she whispers a little wobbly but very much relieved. Glad they are anywhere other than that house.

Momentary confusion but he continues on as normal, "I am as well. You had everyone a little concerned with how deeply you were sleeping but I expect you needed it."

A tear escapes just then and he comes closer, concern spreading across his features. "What's this then?" he asks quietly, his thumb brushing across her cheek.

They won't be held back and it is only then that she realizes they are the first since the final breaking apart of her life.

How can she put it into words? She has no idea where to begin and doesn't think she could bear the look of pity if she finally told him everything, every last detail and let him help extricate herself from this nightmare. She doesn't know how to say it and so she says nothing. Closes her eyes and lets the tears come, silently tracking down until she feels him dab them away with a tissue.

He doesn't speak until at last they subside and the trembling leaves her body.

"You probably needed that as well," he murmurs, brushing the hair from her face. "How are you feeling?"

The second time he has asked the question as he attempts to conceal his alarm. Something is wrong, he has known it for weeks. Helpless as seems unable to reach her.

At last she answers, her voice a little stronger than before. "Like I have the plague."

A soft chuckle and she smiles at the sound of it. She's missed that, too.

"You are very much alive and also plague-free. Agent Navabi is recovering down the hall. You'll be able to see her tomorrow."

It seems like she's been gone so long and wades through the fog of her thoughts to get her bearings. Samar shot, the virus, ugly words…..

"What is it?" seeing her expression darken. Not understanding the sorrow that has returned so quickly.

His hand takes hers and she rests a moment in the familiarity of it. Waits for his thumb to slide across her skin which it does a second later.

"I shouldn't have said that about your daughter."

He doesn't want her thinking of that now when she needs to rest and recover.

"Lizzy, please don't—"

"No, let me say it," she interrupts. "I hope you find her. I hope one day you have more of her than a home movie."

She is exhausted and some of the sadness is lifted from her features. He leaves it for now. Tomorrow he will explain the identity of the woman and that there is no connection to the child in the reel of film he has been repairing. His child and he will tell her that too although in this she had guessed correctly.

"Raymond?"

"Yes, Elizabeth?"

Her eyes flutter open expecting amusement at the use of her full name but there is none. Only his steady gaze as he waits for her to continue.

"Did you download all of Elton's songs for me?"

"Dembe's a fan. It was his phone."

The sound of her laugh as she closes her eyes is all the music he needs and he realizes how much he has longed to hear it. Like coming home and he listens to her breathing slow as she drifts off. Not letting go of her hand, he relaxes back in the chair and promptly falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Raymond_ and _Elizabeth_ have arrived on the scene a little early because I'm too impatient to wait.


	16. Retribution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline 2.6 - 2.8

_Muddy water_  
_Drowning in the rain  
_ _Now the rain done come_

* * *

"Lizzy, you're just in time for the mongooses...uh mongeese?' he calls out as soon as Dembe lets her into the safehouse.

"I...what?"

Dembe smiles in that indulgent way he has and leaves her to join Red who is currently waving her over. "Look at how they balance on their hind legs."

She seems to have arrived in the middle of a nature documentary, one which Red shows no sign in turning off so she sits and watches along with him. He called to tell her there is a new blacklister but now appears in no hurry to give her the case. Seeing his obvious pleasure in the program she is suddenly in no rush to hear it.

They've moved onto the jackal when he finally asks, "How are you feeling by the way?"

"Much better. Plague-free as I believe you called it."

A glance her way before he resumes watching with no comment on the night he spent by her side in the hospital.

Beyond his explanation as to the real identity of the woman he has searched for, neither have gone near the subject for days now finding this break in the tension exactly what they both need. They seem to have entered the eye of the hurricane as a calm settles over them. Both are aware how tenuous it is with the deadly forces circling round them but it is so much easier to breathe with the pressure lifted for the moment.

"Oh look, penguins. I love penguins."

Another glance in her direction and he can't take his eyes from the delight on her face. Such a simple thing and how lovely she looks. He watches her until she meets his eye, forcing his attention back to the screen

"Now here we go, Lizzy. Has there ever been a creature more majestic than the manatee?"

"Red, they were just referred to as the  _cow of the sea_ ," she remarks with a dubious expression.

"We'll discuss the finer points of cows at a later date, but as to manatees they are indeed majestic. I was once diving Laguna de Apoyo and looked around to find one following me. Stayed with me the whole dive until finally going on its way. Wasn't until later that I learned of their endangered status and what a gift that was. I've always wanted to return and…"

He trails off but she understands the wish to return to a place and capture a perfect moment. It is often not to be. The rare and intangible are never easy or duplicated but still the allure remains.

"I hope you make it back there someday," she returns quietly.

"Yes, perhaps someday. I think you would like diving if you've never tried it. No one to bother you, no one to argue with."

She doesn't miss his sly expression and she finds it impossible to not meet the challenge in his words. "When you decide to take the trip, let me know."

He's not sure how they went from manatees to whatever this is but there is no mistaking the little charge that has entered the space around them.

"I'll do that Lizzy, you can count on it."

She's wondering how on earth she inserted herself into a future dive trip with Raymond Reddington or the fact it has caught her imagination. She turns her attention back to the program but her mind is no longer on wildlife but on the image of somewhere, anywhere other than here with the sea surrounding them as they explore its depths.

"Lizzy?"

"Hmmm?"

"Did you hear what I said about the Mombasa Cartel? Poachers?"

"No, sorry. I'm back now….I mean I'm listening. Start over."

He could have shared with her the details of the case in mere minutes but he chose to let her into a private part of his world instead. An area entirely disconnected from his life as a criminal. The simple wish to protect from exploitation those that are unable to protect themselves, be it animal or human. She would call this a gift as well.

_This is important to you._

_Someday, the creatures on that program will be akin to unicorns and griffins, a fairy tale bestiary written in the past tense, and no one is lifting a finger to stop it. Why not, Lizzy? Why not us?_

His ability to bring her far from where she started never ceases to amaze her. Perhaps not always in the way she would like but today that is not the case. She arrived overwhelmed with thoughts of what she has hidden away, the deception and how to deal with the situation. However, she leaves with the vision of something very different filling her mind. The wide open expanse of the ocean in a place that doesn't even need a name. Just somewhere beautiful and not touched by all this ugliness. The question lingers.

_Why not us?_

* * *

And just as the storm is circling around them, so do they each other. His call to have her meet him for a walk by the river when really they could have spoken about the case over the phone. Her return to the motel to change before meeting him and why shouldn't she want something different from her drab FBI wardrobe? It means nothing, she tells herself, except he must have noticed. Why else would he tell her to  _dress down_ for her meeting with Perl to gain information on the cartel?

"Lizzy, why don't I pick you up after?"

"After the meeting? There's no need. I'll call you if I learn anything new."

"You don't know Geoff the way I know Geoff so why don't I pick you up after?"

"Red, I can take care of myself."

His mouth draws into a thin line and there is the momentary satisfaction that she won the argument but then she realizes it really isn't her safety that he is worried about. She's almost convinced it's the image of her there in the club with the elusive billionaire that is currently annoying the hell out of him. Something very close to jealousy.

There is no other word for it and because she can't help the little thrill of power that evokes, she continues, "On second thought, it will be late by the time I leave so why don't you drive me home?"

"I thought you'd never ask," the thin line having given way to a smirk and she tries not to laugh.

But there is little humor to be found when it comes to Zoe D'antonio. The daughter Berlin is convinced Red murdered but who is very much alive and pivotal to their plans.

"Maybe I should approach her? Might be easier if she hears it from me rather than—"

"I've already made contact with her, Lizzy," he replies with just the slightest hesitancy.

"Excuse me?"

"I have already made contact," he repeats carefully. "I don't want to frighten her or risk having her run if we casually reveal Berlin's whereabouts. So for now we're having lunch together."

"You're having…"

"...lunch together, yes. If I can gain her trust enough then perhaps when I tell her she won't flee."

As her brow draws together in that scowl he is all too familiar with, he wonders at her reaction, but there is simply too much to worry about to have time for these little wonderings.

Lizzy concentrates on the case and pointedly refrains from mentioning Berlin's daughter. It means nothing after all, just a small aggravation.

Until he aggravates her again.

"Red, why are we meeting at a record store?" she asks by way of greeting.

She had just received the text from Dembe with the address and looked it up when the  _Nick's Pizza_ call came through. However, there's no answer and she glances at her phone to make sure they're still connected.

"Red?"

"Elizabeth."

"Dembe?"

What is going on and why is Dembe calling from Red's phone and not his own? "Is everything okay? Has something happened to—"

"Everything is fine, Elizabeth," he replies calmly. "Raymond asked that you bring Agent Navabi with you to the meeting."

"Elizabeth?" He asks when it's her turn not to answer.

"He wants to meet Agent Navabi at a record store?"

She can hear his sigh and imagines it can't be easy on him being caught in the middle. Although it certainly wasn't her that did it and why is she so annoyed in the first place? Because he knew she'd be annoyed, that's why. He pulled out his phone to call her and then handed it over, the coward, and she'll be damned if she gives him the satisfaction of being irritated.

Dammit.

"Is everything alright?"

"It's fine, Dembe. It's all fine," she answers calmly. Rationally. Not the least bit miffed.

It's a simple meeting to receive details on a new case. Nothing more. Why on earth she's letting him provoke her she has no idea. Business as usual.

"Does that bother you?" Samar asks later as they approach the location of the meeting.

"Why would it?" Liz answers casually.

"I thought he only spoke to you. Don't want to step on your toes."

"I'm fine. My toes are fine."

She  _is_  fine and perhaps if she repeats that often enough it will begin to feel true. She'll admit to being a little out of sorts. It's not really about Samar or Zoe or even Geoff Perl. It's about the two of them and only them. Except neither of them know what to do about it.

* * *

They knew it couldn't last, this small break in the battle and when the turmoil returns it does so with a ferocity greater than either could have imagined. This parable of lies and revenge is playing out around them with little they can do to stop it.

At what point he knew she was lying to him about Tom is hard to say. The suspicion has been there for some time and though he could judge her, he does not. Hasn't he done the same? Made a terrible decision and lived to regret it? Yes, more than once.

How can he judge her for lying to him when he is deceiving Zoe. Taken her by force when Berlin's location became known because there was no other way. There are too many lives at risk to wait any longer and though it sickened him, he proceeded in drugging her wine. Her look of contempt, he will never forget nor should he. That it eventually disappeared with the telling of the story was little comfort.

They are a train speeding out of control and in the end it was Fitch that set it all in motion. Fitch who put the lie in Berlin's ear, who hid his daughter away while blaming Reddington for the supposed murder. Revenge built on lies built on betrayal. Not much different than what is driving Lizzy to her own destruction.

He should have confronted her before today and not only when he needs information to locate Fitch. Weeks ago when the first seed of doubt appeared. Really confronted her and not with an offhand comment here and there. Tracked her movements himself if need be, but he did nothing because deep down he knew what would be waiting for him at the end of the line.

In truth, he didn't want that answer. The doubt was pushed away and he waited thinking she would come to him. Hoping she would find her way but now she is just as lost as everyone else in this sordid tale.

In the end, he waited in vain. She never sought his help and so here they are in her office at the Post Office where he is forced to finally say it. Where he must face the truth at last.

_You told me Tom is dead. He's not….I'm disappointed you haven't felt that you could trust me enough to tell me this._

_Look, okay, I lied. But I only kept it a secret because I know you want him dead._

Difficult to imagine there could be more pain added to the day but so it is. The confirmation of what he already knows and still she lies. At least to herself.

_No, you kept it a secret because you didn't want to admit to yourself that you still love him. That even after everything he has done, after how horribly he has treated you, you still can't let him go. So you're playing house._

Harsher words than he would have wanted but perhaps he needs to hear them more than her. Perhaps then this ache in his chest will subside and leave him in peace.

But peace can be hard to find at the end of a war. He knows this more than most and this time is no different. It is finished and they are left with a list of casualties both living and dead. Fitch killed by Berlin who, in turn, is killed by himself. One horror leading to another. One deception leading to more and on it goes. Another casualty as Mr. Kaplan has finally learned of Lizzy's hiding place and the murder that occurred there. The last horror of the day it seems.

An innocent man strangled by Tom. What a fitting revenge and not on Lizzy at all but on himself. A clear message that the imposter inflicted the last blow with no way to know how deep the injury will be. The body hidden by the man assisting Lizzy and unwilling to give up it's location in return for his safety.

A loose end that will hang over them just as the imposter will, now that he is on the move again. No, the last thing Red feels at the moment is peace.

* * *

Still, he goes to her. Can't stay away and somehow he knew she'd return to the ship tonight. Whether what draws her back has more to do with the man that was her husband or his victim is another question he fears asking.

But her eyes never look to where Tom was chained when she enters the room. Only to where the body must have lain and her stillness passes through him as the seconds seem to stretch into minutes. In reality it is the briefest of moments that holds the answer to this one question. That her thoughts are with the fallen and not the murderer. For this he is grateful.

She is startled when he speaks but to stay silent any longer is impossible.

"You should have come to me."

How he wishes he could have reached her, but the walls surrounding her seem impenetrable. He knows all about the invisible fortress that can enclose oneself. He has years upon years of experience with his own. Another reason he can't possibly judge her.

"I didn't need to. We found Fitch because of Tom."

Impenetrable still, yet he finds himself moving toward her. "It wasn't worth it. Not if the cost was you, here, in this filth."

A crack in her composure as she seems to take everything in. The rust and decay. The bloodstained floor. Her sigh comes from deep within as the weight of all that has happened bears down on her.

Four months since this deception began and they have finally arrived at a place of honesty.

"I couldn't do it. I told you I could kill Tom but after you left, I just….After all the lies and everything he did to me I told myself I was using him. That I was finally in control."

The tears fall one by one and he aches for her, but some burdens cannot be lifted.

"When you love someone you have no control. That's what love is, being powerless," as his composure falls with her own.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," she whispers and the fear that is embedded within her breaks him.

"There's nothing wrong with you." An effort just to say the words through the emotion overwhelming him.

He closes the final distance between them before he realizes it, takes her in his arms without thought. The need to touch her, shield her somehow from this wretched place takes over.  _There's nothing wrong with you._  The words repeated, a whisper in her hair and a kiss left there as he feels her strength give way.

_That's what love is. Being powerless._

And now he understands. It was his love he spoke of, his truth. At last he can call it what it is if only to himself. How it came to be this way, the where or when of it he has no answer. It simply  _is_. As constant as a heartbeat or the tide coming in and going out.

He holds her closer and breathes her in. Helpless.


	17. Remnant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline post 2.08
> 
> This is a Liz centric chapter set after the culmination of the boat saga, the end of Berlin and the Harbormaster’s murder. Basically my reaction to all those times a major event happens in Liz’s life and we don't really get to see her meltdown, learn, grow, move on etc. from the experience. Something that has gotten progressively worse through the seasons. If you're like me, you're often left frustrated by her lack of feeling or a reaction that seems out of sync with what has happened. This is on tptb not Liz. So I decided to stick with her through that hiatus holiday season after 2.08 but before Luther Braxton shows up. Oh and Red is there too.
> 
> Since this is an extra chapter, I picked lyrics from a song that didn't appear on the show, but that are beautifully fitting for Red and Lizzy.

_In every heart there is a room_  
_A sanctuary safe and strong_  
_To heal the wounds from lovers past_  
_Until a new one comes along_  
  


Liz thought the pain could not possibly cut deeper, no part of herself that hadn't already been broken and stripped away. She had no idea how wrong she was. It wasn't until Tom was free to leave that she truly realized what was left.

It has nothing to do with the loss of a marriage or betrayal. She has known this devastation for months now, but it is the loss of the rage she held onto so tightly that feels like a wrenching apart. The shield that made it all too easy to ignore what it hid from her, but now what was buried has been ripped wide open.

Despair.

Beyond anything she has known since the beginning of the end. Not for Tom, but for herself. For this last remnant of who she was and who she has become. A person wholly unrecognizable to herself, but it is the one she is left to live with and can't seem to look at in the mirror. Like living with a stranger with no way to break free. Nowhere to go when the stranger is herself and her own skin feels like a lie.

Why shouldn't it? When all those lies led to a blood-stained floor and an innocent man's death.

More despair. A never-ending well to draw from when she thinks of what could have been prevented but wasn't.

And the image of that room won't let her alone. Drives her from her desk and she exits the Post Office with no thought to what she was working on and doesn't stop until she is blocks away. If only it were miles. Perhaps then she could breathe, but it is only an alley on a street she wouldn't be able to name with a decaying wall she leans against as she fights for composure. It feels like nowhere and she'd rather be here than anywhere at all.

The cold eventually brings her back as she hadn't stopped for her coat but simply started walking. It's not the first time nor will it be the last. This is the way of things now. She is a ghost haunted by a ghost and why should it be any different.

The hand on her arm startles her and she flinches from the contact. God, she hates the pressure of just this simple touch. Can feel it all the way to the bone and fights the urge to scream.

"Agent Keen, I'm sorry. Mr. Reddington has called several times and…"

Aram with the obvious discomfort she has caused him. More guilt that he has been put in the middle of this when she left her phone behind. If Red is calling with the name of a new blacklister he'll have to break the rule and speak with someone else. She is done with the pretense of coming here everyday after sleepless nights and the dreams that find her in between. The panic that forces her from her desk when all she sees is the boat. When all she hears are the death throes of a doomed man.

Without a word to Aram, she rises and walks directly to Cooper's office.

What she should have done in the beginning, from day one. What she told Ressler to do but then months later did not take her own advice. Leave. Walk away and perhaps one day be fit to walk back in again. Her first moment of real clarity in longer than she cares to admit. Cooper never even questions it saying only he won't expect to hear from her until after the holidays.

The holidays. Something she has avoided thinking about or discussing, but already there is chatter around the office. The arrangements for family gatherings and every time she left the room unable to hear it. What plans are there to make when this time last year she expected to be home with her baby? How can she think of anything other than a wife and daughter who will spend this holiday alone with no answers as to why that is?

She glances toward the calendar as she stops at her desk to pick up her things before leaving. So it's a Thursday after all. Good. At least she'll know what day it was when she finally fell to pieces.

* * *

_I spoke to you in cautious tones_  
_You answered me with no pretense_  
_And still I feel I said too much  
_ _My silence is my self defense_

 

She makes it inside the door of her motel room and no further. Days from now she will wonder if this had happened months ago when it should have, would it have been this crippling. There will never be an answer as the torrent she has held back finally breaks free and drops her to her knees. Grief that rolls through her body in waves. For herself. For Ames. A life that never was.

On and on it goes until she can take no more and sits up enough to lean back against the door. Fighting to pull the air into her lungs as the nausea presses in on her.

"Elizabeth?"

A whisper from outside and the voice she'd recognize anywhere. The smallest tap against the wood, down low at her level. He must know this is where she crumpled and he was there to hear her sorrow pour out. In her mind she can see him kneeling down with no way to reach her.

It's not a surprise that he is here. She never returned his call, a common occurrence these days as she has walled herself off. Of course his worry would make him seek her out.

"Can you let me know you're okay?"

She reaches a hand out and wonders if his is just there on the other side.

"How about one tap for yes and two for no?"

Why is he here and why does he care so much? Especially after….everything that has happened. She cannot fathom it and more tears form that she tries to blink away.

"I'm here."

Barely audible but she swears she hears his sigh of relief at her words.

"Do you think you could open the door?" he asks quietly, tentatively.

"No I….not right now. It's cold out and you should go."

She presses her ear closer at the silence that follows but cannot bring herself to reach up to the doorknob and let him in.  _You might wonder "At exactly what point did I become this thing?"_ He had asked her that once and now she no longer wonders. She can't bear the thought of him seeing it.

"I don't want to leave you like this."

"But I need you to."

Minutes pass as they lean into each other even separated as they are until he reaches a decision.

"I'll only go if you give me your word it's safe to do so."

Because he can't see her, can't know for certain when her voice is only a murmur that reaches him. Because her cries were terrible and he won't leave without her assurance. With every lie she has told him and still he will accept her word as truth. Will trust her enough to do as she asks. Never has she felt more undeserving of it until this moment.

"I'm okay. You should go."

Louder now so he will hear the certainty she tries to convey, even though some part of her desperately wants him with her. She is at least honest enough to admit that but this is what is needed.

For now.

"Raymond," she calls out before he goes, but when he answers she realizes he hasn't yet moved.

"Yes, Lizzy. What is it?'

"I'll call you. I promise I'll call you."

Now he can leave and she can let him go knowing the promise has been made. Knowing she will never break it.

* * *

_But if my silence made you leave_  
Then that would be my worst mistake  
_So I will share this room with you  
_ _And you can have this heart to break_

 

It takes days for her to keep her word. She doesn't know how many nor does it matter, she supposes. How do you put a timeframe on coming unglued?

It's difficult to remember the first that pass even this close to it. The torrent returned again and again and she let it. Didn't fight it until she would fall into the exhaustion that waited for her at the end and the few hours of dreamless sleep she had earned. The only peace she knows until the next time.

She's fairly certain there was a long stretch without food for she woke just after dawn a day or so later with a hunger she hasn't felt in months. Finally a reason to step back outside and she forces herself up and into the shower.

The air is bitterly cold and she welcomes the wind in her face, anything that reminds her she's still here. Turning to close the door, her eyes fall on a folded piece of paper taped there. The smallest smile forms before she realizes it and remains as she takes it in her hand to read.

 _Front desk. Something for the stomach.  
_ _R._

Cryptic as always but she wastes no time in walking to the lobby to retrieve a small paper bag from the clerk.

Oranges.

Four navel oranges and where on earth did he get these in December? Is this a comment on her vitamin C intake? Or one of the little things he has learned she loves and right then she wishes she knew which memory he drew upon.

She doesn't venture far that first day, only to the diner across the street before returning to the motel and although what is tormenting her has not left, there are no more days when she doesn't leave the room.

It is the next afternoon when she finds the second note, already knowing it would be there, and that a new ritual has been born. He will wait for her to call but in the meantime there is the reminder that she is not alone, that there is a reason to open the door.

 _Front desk. Something for the mind.  
_ _R._

A book of crosswords and a pen, of all things. The challenge does not go unnoticed but she recalls when they worked on one together and a clue she swears he made up.

A little further today. The diner followed by a walk but she turns back when the snow begins to fall. Still she feels better and perhaps she will go further tomorrow.

However, tomorrow is like the first day with no explanation of why that is. The dream that took her back to the boat, but it is a nightmare that is familiar to her now. Why should today be any different? She stops looking for answers where there are none and lets the tears do their worst. It is late when she opens the door but still before midnight and she counts it as a small victory.

 _You know where. Something for the heart.  
_ _R._

When the clerk hands her the DVD she laughs out loud but it is as if the sound came from someone else and it dies in her throat.

"Is everything alright?" the clerk asks looking concerned. "There's a player in your room, you know. He asked to make sure."

"Yes, thank you," she mumbles not wanting her to see the tears that came so suddenly.

They are brief though and born only from the memory of a certain afternoon they shared. A good day in the midst of so many that were bad. When she returns to her room after dinner she decides she can't wait and watches the documentary late into the night.  _Manatees - The Mermaids Of The Deep._

She sleeps and dreams of the ocean.

 _Something for someday.  
_ _R._

Scuba goggles and smiling she looks up to see the woman behind the desk grinning back at her.

"This is getting weirder everyday."

"You have no idea," Liz replies with a shake of her head. She holds them close and wonders if they'll ever make that trip to the sea or maybe it's only the idea of it that she needs now.

Everyday she makes it further from where she came apart. A routine forms. She would almost call it normal if not for living in a motel, on leave from a classified FBI task force and receiving daily gifts from an international criminal. She can't say that there is a return to herself but only a better understanding of the one that remains.

And each day brings a new gift. Pastelitos that she shares with the clerk. A flyer from a gallery with an exhibit of local photographers and she spends the afternoon there studying every print.

A sprig of holly on Christmas Eve and the desk clerk can keep silent no longer, "I was hoping for mistletoe."

"Mistletoe?" Liz asks, but then catching her meaning continues. "Oh, it's not like that."

"I've seen a lot in my time, but nothing like this. Is it something you can forgive him for?"

"No, it was me—"

But she stops realizing she has revealed too much, not to the clerk but to herself.

"Oh honey, you have nothing to worry about then. I knew the first time I saw him, this was a man in—"

"I'm sorry, but I…"

She doesn't finish and is still trembling when she slides into her regular booth. Today is not the day to dissect the reason why she is unsettled because this is the day she has been waiting for. The day she decided to keep the promise. Later that afternoon when she stops into a coffee shop, she reaches for her phone and attempts to control the tremble in her hands.

"Elizabeth."

Nothing more. Just her name as a greeting, slowly drawing out each syllable as if he has been waiting to say it all this time and wanted to make the moment last.

"Thank you for my gifts."

"You're welcome. I hope they've helped in some small way."

"They have, but perhaps…"

"Yes?"

"Next time knock on the door. The desk clerk is getting ideas," she answers with a smile.

A small chuckle at the implication and she doesn't miss the way his voice seems to drop lower. "I'll be sure to do that."

Remembering the date she adds rather hastily, "But not tomorrow, the day after that. Tomorrow I'll be…"

Alone. She doesn't finish, but he thinks he understands. He is well aware of self-imposed solitudes and the reasons for them. He has known many. It does not surprise him she would want to shut herself away this holiday after so much loss.

"Day after tomorrow it is, Lizzy. I look forward to it."

"How do you do it?" she asks with a trace of urgency coming into her voice.

"Do what?"

"How have you gotten through all of these anniversaries of...your family?"

The reason she called today and not yesterday or the day before that. Today because something happened all those years ago on Christmas Eve and yet he survived. She wishes more than anything to know how.

A pause as he is caught off-guard by her question. How to put into words that which he does not speak.

"I'm not sure I have an answer for that."

No evasion this time but simply an honest confession. There are no easy answers where suffering is concerned.

"I don't suppose you would. You're wrong, you know."

He can't keep up with the way she is jumping from topic to topic and the worry remains. Wishes he could be there now, to see her expression, to look in her eyes and know she is still there looking back at him. That she has found herself again.

Before he can respond, she continues, "I don't love him."

The call is disconnected and this will have to do. For now.

She weathers the day better than expected. Simply lets it come and when the room proves too claustrophobic, leaves to take a walk. She wasn't sure a note would be waiting but it's there and this gift means the most even without knowing what it is. A street map with a path marked out in red and setting out, it leads her to a sculpture garden. In all her ramblings how had she missed this?  _Something for the soul if you feel like a walk._ She's the first person there today as her footsteps are the only ones visible in the light dusting of snow that has fallen.  _For the soul_ when all she wants is a little peace and it is here waiting for her.

* * *

_And this is why my eyes are closed_  
_It's just as well for all I've seen_  
_And so it goes, and so it goes  
_ _And you're the only one who knows_

 

He is up with the sun and paces the safe house until a reasonable hour will let him go to her. He has taken some difficult walks in his time but few compare to the steps leading him away from her door that day. He'd walk into the FBI a thousand times and drop to his knees if only to never again know that feeling of complete helplessness.

But some journeys must be taken alone and so he had left carrying his guilt like a mantle. That he could not prevent her suffering. That he brought part of it to her very door. He had wondered if he'd be able to wait for her and let her come back to him in her own time. It seemed impossible until he left a small offering for her and did so again the next day and to find she had retrieved the first gift and all the ones that followed became a small connection to her with the assurance she was surviving.

The knock comes early on her door and she is there to answer immediately having woken with the sun. There he is filling up the room in that way of his as he takes her in and his smile of relief when her eyes meet his. When it isn't a stranger looking back at him.

He would give anything to reach out to her but hesitates. The room does seem small somehow and it all feels a bit awkward until she finally asks if he's had breakfast. It's a relief to be on their way and they walk a block or two before deciding on a place to stop. No talk of the Post Office or a blacklister. No mention of their last conversation through the door. Only the many little nothings they can think of, both afraid of the silence that could follow.

Until she suddenly continues where she left off in their previous call. "I don't kid myself and think I never loved him but there is nothing left of it with everything that has happened. I wasn't  _playing house_ by holding him on the boat."

"I was angry when I said that," he replies quietly, unsure where her thoughts will lead the conversation.

"Yes, I know," she says, the resignation heavy in her voice. "I couldn't kill him but then wanted him to suffer as much as I had. Should have been the other way around, I suppose."

"You had no way of knowing what would happen or that—"

"There's more to it, you know."

He studies her as she looks down toward her hands folded on the table and the concern he felt begins to leave. Her mind is still overwhelmed by what has happened but the profiler has returned to sort through the events. Place them in order, look for the pattern. Find the answer. Not so unusual if her thoughts fly about.

"You may be powerless in what you feel but there should be strength in that love," she continues, meeting his eye once more. "I look back and all I see is my own weakness caused by his manipulation. That's how I know it's gone."

 _That's what love is, being powerless._ But she never gained strength from it because it was rooted in deception. She has been hollowed out by the experience but at least with this emptiness comes the knowledge that she is free of him.

"That is very wise, Lizzy. I've seen love die in the course of many years, and I've seen it snuffed out in an instant. However, the long or short of it, it is sometimes an ugly business. As you well know the casualties may add up in ways you could never have imagined."

"No, I never imagined it. I wish to god I had."

Regret. It will never not be with her. She knows it as well as he.

"You may not believe this but that man's blood is on Tom's hands. Not yours."

Yes, it is true. But the remorse will be hers to carry. The murderer will never spare his victim a single thought while she will think of him everyday.

"Will you go back to the Post Office?" He asks quietly when she doesn't respond and gazes out the window lost in her thoughts.

"Yes, when I'm ready," and turning back she catches the smile her answer brought. "You could talk to Ressler in the meantime."

The smile vanishes. "Look, I'm all for goodwill toward men but—"

Her laughter interrupts his mock outrage and how grateful he is to hear it. Her own gift for him.

When they step out onto the sidewalk he expects a goodbye but she asks instead, "Would you care to walk awhile? I've been doing quite a bit lately and did so yesterday as a matter of fact. Thank you for that by the way."

"You're welcome and as for walking, lead on. I'm game if you are," he says, pleased that she had ventured out.

The sidewalks are packed and more than a few shoppers impatiently move around the couple that seem oblivious to the throng as they stroll at a leisurely pace or stop to look in a shop window. They pay no attention as she links her arm through his for once. Because of the crowd that jostles her, of course, but she has missed this contact. Finds that she needs it again.

When eventually they make it to a park, they find a bench and sit for awhile not talking. Until he attempts to answer her question. How he survived it.

"I don't remember the first year. There were injuries as you know and that is part of it, but only in the beginning. After that I...chose to make myself forget in a variety of ways."

She has stopped breathing not wanting to disturb this recollection. Afraid he will retreat from her the way she has done. Watches him only from the corner of her eye as he gazes at the distance.

"It went on longer than I could have thought possible but there is one day I recall. Walking through a city of no consequence, I turned a corner and it brought me to a stop. Nothing out of the ordinary except a certain way the light fell through the trees. That time before sunset when the light turns gold. It struck me then that ten minutes before or after I might not have noticed but I was there at the perfect time. Unbelievably I felt grateful to have seen it. You will find that one day, Lizzy. Something you will cross paths with and be glad even for the briefest moment that you were there."

The sculpture garden with only her footprints in the snow. A park bench in winter and a glimpse at his soul. She understands completely and sliding to his side, he instinctively reaches his arm around her shoulder bringing her in a little closer.

"If you're cold, we can start back," he murmurs.

"Not yet. A little while longer, okay?"

"Okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In regards to the Harbormaster’s murder, Tom’s guilt is absolute. I think it's reasonable, however, that this man's death would be devastating to Liz. Tptb wrote her reaction nothing short of callous in 2.08 even though we do see her remorse later in the season when she sets up the trust for Ames’s daughter. That they used this murder as a romantic gesture by Tom is disgusting and I'd like to think Liz would feel the same which is a reason it featured so prominently here and will be addressed in a later chapter.


	18. Light Play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline 2.09

_There's a reckoning a-comin'_  
_And it burns beyond the grave_  
_Lead inside my belly  
_ _'Cause my soul has lost its way_

* * *

"Of course, he's wearing a tux."

Liz mutters the words under her breath while watching the news feed of Red's arrest in Hong Kong and that familiar feeling settles over her. Irritation. Only Reddington would look that good the day his twenty-five year fugitive spree came to an end.

"Agent Keen, did you say something?" Aram asks as he displays the latest reports coming in.

"Nothing of consequence."

As was any reason to let her in on his plan to travel overseas or her believing they might finally be more open with one another. She had sat across from him not two days ago and he just smiled that smile of his while the jet was probably already running. And the doubt was there. That voice in her head telling her he was up to something, or at least up to more than he normally is. It has seemed very similar to the weeks after Berlin surfaced when Red would vanish without a word as to the where or why of it. When the division between them grew and the thought that it is returning prompted the question at last.

_Is there something I need to know?_

_Not at present, Lizzy._

Except there was something and he would not tell her. How positively unoriginal at this point. Why should he include the task force in whatever is going on? No, he'd rather go off lone wolf style and get himself arrested and thrown in a hole somewhere she can't get to him.

As soon as the thought enters her mind, so does the doubt. There must be more to it. Some reason he needed to be taken into custody with the arrest planned down to the last detail. And he wore that damn tux for his own amusement.

Well, Liz is not amused.

She's scared. He can't control all variables no matter what he thinks and being transferred to The Factory rings with finality.  _A slaughterhouse for spies_ and she grips the desk until her knuckles turn white.

_He's our asset._

When what she's thinking is  _he's mine and I'm going to get him back._

* * *

Red is anything but amused.

_Radio the chopper!_

He's worried. The instincts that have kept him alive and free all these years are suddenly in overdrive. That tickle at the nape of his neck. The bitterness in his mouth when the adrenaline kicks in. That chopper wasn't on the agenda and it stirs a dread deep inside him. His shouts go unanswered as the warden disappears from view and the leg and arm restraints click into place.

Who the hell is on that chopper sent to evac him off this godforsaken platform? The fear, like some primal instinct is his answer. Somehow she found out where he was being held and is en route. Dammit, this was not the plan. He only needed to convince the warden to let him speak with Braxton and perhaps thwart the breach, but now the facility has been taken just as Lizzy will be walking into a trap.

His mind begins the strategizing as he is led away by the guard. First step is to bargain his way out of these cuffs. The second is to find her and get her the hell out of here.

* * *

It happens in slow motion.

Disconcerting since arriving at this deserted corridor in the depths of The Factory felt like mere seconds from the chopper landing on the platform. In reality it has taken quite some time after Ressler and Samar were apprehended for Liz to make it this far into the facility without being detected. That is until the hand reaches out and pulls her into the cell.

One. Two. Three seconds as he holds her against his body and her eyes close in the certain knowledge of just whose body that is. The hand holding tightly to her wrist while his thumb ever so slightly ghosts across the scar can only belong to one man. She sensed it the moment of his touch and her slow exhale of relief is matched by his. The warmth of his breath on her neck as every muscle in her body seems to tighten before she relaxes against him.

It's disappointing when time catches up and he quickly and forcefully pushes her away.

_What the hell are you doing here?_

He's annoyed.

_I came to help get you out._

_You came out of curiosity._

Make that angry.

_Or maybe I actually care about what happens to you._

He shrugs it off, won't stop to linger over her words. The fear is tangled up with the anger but she doesn't back down. Not even when they step out into the passageway and he pushes her behind.

_I can help you._

_No_.

She is not leaving without him and the sooner he understands that the better. They'll just have to deal with the Fulcrum, whatever that is, later.

They've been moving further and further toward the center of the prison and the silence is more than irritating considering the trouble they took in finding him. He hasn't said a word since her refusal to leave and she has had enough.

"I see you dressed for the occasion."

"Excuse me?" he says with a glance over his shoulder.

"You heard me. You're not fooling me with this out of the blue arrest. I know you somehow arranged all this and the tux is the cherry on top."

"Lizzy—"

He has stopped walking and turns to face her and her displeasure.

"Don't say it," she interrupts with a roll of her eyes. "Whatever it is, just stow it. We're not done with this but obviously it can wait."

"I was simply going to thank you for noticing this rather well-cut tuxedo, but yes I suppose it can wait," as he stands there with a little smile playing at the corners of his mouth. As if a thought just struck and he is endlessly amused.

"Get going and stop smiling at me. Your charms don't work here, Reddington."

" _My charms?_ Now that is an interesting choice of word—"

He is cut off by her hand on his chest that pushes him back a few inches and they remain locked in this power play for longer than is safe considering the danger at every corner. It's her own fault for bringing up the subject in the first place. Whether she is more annoyed at his expression or her response to seeing the arrest footage is hard to say and this is not the time or place to reflect on the very physical nature of that response. She gives him a shove and on they go deeper into the black site and further from the light.

* * *

"I'm having second thoughts about this," he mumbles from behind.

The way she is positioned it's impossible to turn around and she barely manages a glimpse of him under her arm as she cranes her neck back. Now he's having doubts after she pretzeled herself into this ridiculous air duct?

"About what? This entire scheme, or the boiler or getting captured to put yourself in proximity to Luther Braxton, or…."

He's kneeling at the entrance of the tunnel and strangely she notices the flashing emergency light is beating in time to the muscle clenching in his jaw.

"Currently I'm more concerned with you possibly getting lost in miles of ductwork."

"That's not going to happen with Khan guiding the way."

"Then I think Khan should do this instead." The resignation hangs on every word as he makes one final plea.

"He'd only end up the one lost since none of us had time to study the layout except him."

No response and the muscle starts clenching again, picking up the tempo where it left off.

With a sigh of exasperation she continues, "Look if you want to squeeze in behind me feel free but otherwise we're wasting time."

His sigh closely matches her own. "As tempting as that is considering the view, I'll leave you to it."

"Hey!" But her moral outrage is cut off by a surprisingly mischievous smile he gives her before it disappears as quickly as it came.

"I'll be waiting at the other end, Lizzy," he says in all seriousness as he reaches to close the grate behind her.

"You better be."

He fastens the latch leaving her in almost total darkness and she switches on her flashlight. She had not intended to let him out of her sight once she found him and she is certain he felt the same.  _She's with me._ This was not what either wanted but there is no other choice. To stop Braxton getting the information he is after they must destroy the server room. To do that they must blow up the boiler room next to the server room. To do that she must crawl past the security lockdown protocols in a two foot duct and open the door. Simple. How in the hell do they always end up in these situations?

"Khan, are you there?"

"I am unless you two need another minute," is the amused reply through her earpiece.

"Look, I get enough grief from him. Lead on."

* * *

He can't believe it has come to this. Lizzy up in the ductwork and him standing outside a locked door waiting for her to crawl her way into the room on the other side. Naturally it takes her longer to reach the rendezvous point than he and Gernert but that doesn't lessen his agitation. It grows minute by minute until he paces like a caged animal.

_Where the hell is she?_

"Something has happened."

"Nothing has happened," Gernert replies calmly.

"She's late."

"There is no  _late_  when you're crawling through a tube," is the other man's equally calm response.

"Gernert, I swear…"

His tirade is cut off by a sound from the other side. A crash, followed by footsteps and the door opening with her cough as a greeting. Finally, he can see her. Covered head to foot in dirt and as beautiful as ever. God, if he had lost her and right then he swears to not let her leave his side again until he can finagle her onto that chopper.

_You all right? You sure?_

And before he knows it, he's in the middle of a story about his old friend the cat burglar. It was the image of this friend's demise that has plagued him as he waited outside the door and now he is rambling just a bit. A little out of sorts in his pristine tux while she looks like a chimney sweep and he fights the urge to brush his fingers across her face.

"I'm certainly glad you waited to tell me the story of Bruno and the vase until after I crawled through a mountain of ducts," she says softly.

Red looks toward Gernert who has begun moving around the room checking this pipe and that valve after announcing they had a problem. For the moment though, she is studying him again until she answers the question she was puzzling over.

"I'm sorry you were worried. Now I can see why."

When he is able to return her gaze, he can no longer maintain the mask. It slips for the briefest moment. "Why did you come here? You could have sent anyone. Why did you come yourself?"

"Raymond, I came to get you back," she murmurs with a simple shrug of her shoulders.

Quite without thought, his hand reaches out to take hold of her upper arm and there is the slightest pressure forming as he slowly draws her nearer. Closer still and she takes a step forward when Gernert calls out from somewhere in the cavernous room, "We definitely have a problem here."

And the same thought passes through both their minds.  _Yes, we certainly do._

* * *

How hard can it be to blow up a boiler?

Apparently not at all as long as you're willing to risk life and limb standing next to the thing flipping all manner of switches right up until the last minute. Otherwise, yes it's extremely difficult to blow up a boiler.

Red is out of ideas at this point. This whole nightmare is beyond his control and when the German moves to leave, he instinctively puts the gun in the man's gut. They all made the plan together and no one is going to walk out until he says so.

_Wait. You shoot him, they'll hear. They'll be here within sixty seconds and then what? We can do this, you and I._

God, he hopes she understands what Gernert is saying about the psi and release valves because he can't seem to focus. He's completely at a loss as Khan goes as well leaving only Lizzy looking back to where he stands. Where he has been rooted to the spot unable to utter a word.

_We can do this._

Only minutes before he swore to keep her close, his silent oath that he would lead her to safety. But it is he that will follow, her side that he will stand by. If she stays then so be it. He will not lose her again.

The pressure is rising. Between them, around them and he is powerless in the midst of it. The questions come as he knew they would. The Cabal. The Fulcrum.

_So that's what this is all about? This whole thing. Protecting yourself?_

Not accusatory on her part, only curious as to his connection to all this.

_It may be hard for you to imaging but I once had a relatively normal life. Bills to pay, playdates, family, some friends, people to care about. Lost all that._

_Lost how?_

With every minute they draw closer to the breaking point. The alarms ring louder and there is no time to say it all.

It has taken her so long to understand the hidden meaning in his words. The story within a story. The cat burglar trapped and unable to find his way out, and Red not wanting to let her go into the darkness alone. The farmer who has lost everything who is raging, burning the world down and she thinks of Red running for over two decades fighting a war she can't possibly begin to imagine.

The fish who have become sightless after being shut away, cut off from the outside world for so long they are no longer what they were. Only a reflection of their former selves as something hideous took over in the darkness.

_I've rarely thought about what I once was. But I wonder if a ray of light were to make it into the cave, would I be able to see it? Or feel it? Would I gravitate to its warmth? And if I did, would I become less hideous? I didn't want you to come here, follow me here. Because the truth is, if I don't stop Braxton, what he'll discover is that he can't get the Fulcrum without you._

The pressure is too much. In her chest pushing to get out, outside her body pressing in. Gunfire, the boiler and the explosion that's been coming for longer than they've realized. As the blast tears across The Factory she has no idea just how long it will take to find her way back to this story of darkness and light.

* * *

The sirens have grown so loud and she rolls over gagging on the soot in her throat. Choking on the smoke in the air and realizes the sirens are actually the ringing in her ears.

_"_ Red?"

She calls out as she fights through the disorientation and turns to see him lying close to where she fell. Had he reached her before the explosion? Were they able to hold on to the other until the shockwave found them? There is no memory but only panic as he still hasn't moved. No response as she leans in close to feel for his breath on her skin but she can't tell. So much smoke and what if he's….

"Breathe."

_She's with me._  Pressing into his chest, willing his heart to keep time with her own.  _I came to get you back._

"Oh god, Red, breathe."

Desperation clawing its way up from the deepest part of her.  _Don't go._  Harder, faster. Compression after compression as she fights the suffocating oppression of the destruction.

"Breathe, you son of a bitch!"

She would scream to hell and back if she could get enough air in her lungs. Shake him until he opens his eyes and look at her in that way of his. The smile he reserves for her and  _Breathe!_ She brings her face close to his and is that the whisper of a breath? How can she be sure in all this grit, and they are coming. She was too late.

* * *

_Where is she?_

He had almost caught up with her as they ran for their lives. She was a foot ahead, maybe less. Just beyond the reach of his hand as he tried to get to her. To throw his body over hers and hope like everything they would make it through the explosion.

_Where is she?_  He was too late.

The concussion of the blast hurling them forward is his last memory. He never had time to call out to her. She's gone and the agony tears through him. His promise to himself to stay by her side and already he is unable to keep it. Agony followed by a fury that drives him to his feet and then to the warden's office. He loads each weapon with only one purpose left in his life.

"I'm going to get her back."

If it's the last thing he ever does on this earth. He thinks only of her, through each passageway, as he follows the layout in his mind. He's made this walk before. Another night and another tux. Finding her in the embassy but that is a lifetime ago after all that has happened. After what she has become to him now. He won't be stopped as he enters the quad.

The shotgun shells run out at the entrance to the command center. He takes out his last weapon and doesn't stop until it has been unloaded. Until he sees her rise and train her own gun on Braxton and finally he has kept his promise. Returned to her side.

_She's the one._

Braxton cannot possibly comprehend the meaning of these words, but it is too late. Always too late. The missiles are on the horizon and Red has lost all control as he hurls his body in her direction.

_When you love someone, you have no control. That's what love is, being powerless._

The world explodes in a tangle of metal and pain at the moment they make contact and his arms circle round her. He is swinging from the light to the dark. The pendulum caught in a cycle he can't break free of. She is wrenched from his grasp leaving only the darkness that swallows him whole.

He struggles to stay near her. Looks for her in the diner and the park where they sat. The sculpture garden is empty and he moves on. She's close and he needs to understand. What was it she had said to him?  _There's more to it...there should be strength in that love._

How foolish he was not to see it, but he didn't know. Hadn't truly needed to draw on that strength until this moment when his love for her is all that prevents him falling into the abyss. He reaches for her again, summoning every last reserve left in his body. Somehow she is there, passing just outside the cell where he is waiting and without a second thought he pulls her to him. Holds her close and when she relaxes against him recognizing his touch, closes his eyes and breathes a sigh of relief.

That he has been given this one final reprieve.


	19. Remembrance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline 2.10

_And you injured me with that piece of my mind_  
_And I listened to the creek and it did much more for me…._  
_'Cause down beneath the water's skin, where we all swim_  
_There's diamonds on the surface then  
_ _And they'll come clean us, we'll both live again_

* * *

Just an illusion.

The sensation of finding her in the darkness, her skin beneath his fingers as he held her to his body is only a dream. They are not safe. They never were.

She is gone. Luther and his men as well and it is obvious what has occurred. They will peel away each memory until the one related to the Fulcrum is revealed then discard her like yesterday's trash. He knows enough of Braxton's history to realize she is in grave danger and there is no way to get to her from the destroyed platform.

He would burn the world down to find her but it's already on fire.

* * *

The whirring of the chopper blades rouse her, the straps immediately cutting into her wrists and body when she attempts to rise. There is no memory of how she got here. Looking around the cramped interior of the chopper she doesn't see him and she'd swear there is a sudden loss of altitude, the sensation of falling hits her so strongly.

No one reacts. She is the only one in freefall because she was the one taken. He has been left behind with Ressler and Samar, but it is Red who is her last memory before waking high over the ocean.

"How does it feel to have something people are willing to die for locked up in that pretty little head of yours?"

"I don't know anything."

There is no use. Braxton doesn't believe her.

She closes her eyes and thinks of the memory. With the missiles seconds from impact, when there was no time to think or react or attempt to flee, when there was no time left at all he managed to reach her and enfolding her in his arms, they fell into the darkness together.

"Raymond."

"Raymond, isn't here to help you now, Princess," Braxton replies as he mocks the break in her voice.

A whisper she didn't realize was audible and he is not here to answer her, but somewhere in the burning ruin of the prison she can see disappearing on the horizon. She had gone to get him back and now there is no assurance of his safety or even his survival. The threat of what they will do to her barely crosses her mind.

* * *

"Raymond, you must remain calm."

Useless on Dembe's part to say it, but he does so nonetheless as he watches his friend sitting across from him with his hand near the glass of scotch. It was just a way to occupy the nervousness. Something to hold onto but not drink. No dulling of the senses today when they will need every advantage. And so he spins the glass, sets it down and picks it up again. A steady rhythm coinciding with his agitation.

"Gather all known associates of Braxton's and have them waiting in D.C. We'll go there immediately after we land," Red repeats looking out the window of the jet. Checking off the list in his mind.

"We will find her."

"And call Kate to have the medical team on standby just in case," Red continues as though he did not hear the other man's words.

"You should try to rest."

"And did you make sure about Desmond? Man broke every rule in the book for me."

"Raymond, you must quiet your thoughts."

"Have you heard any of what I've been saying?" he finally exclaims unable to stand anymore. It takes everything within him not to down the scotch but still he refuses. Let's it sit there at his fingertips, the only control he has left.

"I have heard every word and it has been done," Dembe answers calmly, no stranger to the workings of Raymond's mind when it is in overdrive.

"I can't lose her," he murmurs, finally meeting his friend's eye.

"You won't."

"What if—"

"Do not speak it. We will find her."

He does as Dembe says and doesn't speak the fear out loud. What had Braxton called her.  _Your girlfriend, the princess._ He knows. Somehow he must know what she is to him and is taunting him with it. Just as Anslo did and  _my god is it that obvious_? When he has only just realized himself….

Will he ever not put her in danger when all he wishes to do is love her?

* * *

Recovered memory therapy and they've kidnapped an innocent woman and her son to accomplish it. Liz pulls at the straps on her wrists but there is no use. She can't break free. The call between Braxton and Red at least lets her know he is alive but he is far from this terrible place. There is simply no time for him to arrive before the drugs rip into her.

They're going to split her mind apart but they don't know she just put it back together. How can she explain it to them, not that Braxton would care or the doctor has much choice. She can't tell them about Tom or the boat, the murder of Ames. Can't tell them any of it. How she became so fractured and that it took everything within herself to piece the fragments back together.

The fear is a cold knot in her belly. That they'll destroy her once and for all searching out this memory that frightens her but that she also wants. This impossible choice.

The fire. Through twenty six years they will force her back to the night that left her burned. To the traumatic event that injured both herself and Raymond. The scars they share that she has begun to believe cannot be a mere coincidence.

Her childhood nightmares come back at last. The terror, blinding terror that she would be consumed and the screams that would wake her. Her own cries bringing her father to her side to comfort and attempt to understand this thing he did not witness. Sam who would tell her it was a dream and hum the tune until she drifted off again. Only she is awake now and it has returned to engulf her.

_I don't want to go back._

She doesn't have a choice.

* * *

"Is it broken?"

Red hears the words but they seem far away when, in fact, the question comes from Dembe sitting next to him in the car. They have the address, are minutes away from reaching her and all he can think of is the embassy. He had walked her to her car but instead of driving away, she stopped to examine his injured hand. Holding it in her own as her concern threw him off kilter. The same hand he just pummeled Braxton's associate with. The one that impacted the jaw of the guard that night when he found her.

_Your hand is swollen. You'll need to ice it._

_I've had worse._

Not true anymore. This crushing weight on his chest is so unlike anything he has known, he barely notices the injury.

"Raymond, your hand? Can you fire your weapon?" Dembe asks again, his tactical training kicking in as they near the abandoned mansion.

There can be no mistakes. They will only have one chance to reach her and will have to do it alone as Baz and the rest of his men are dealing with Braxton.

"Yes, I have full use of it."

"That was not what I would call remaining calm," his friend says quietly, indicating the beating he gave the seller of secrets.

Well, he'd be right there too, but it had alleviated some of the pressure even momentarily.

He reaches into the inner pocket of his coat and pulls out the silencer as a stillness settles over him as it always does in these moments. When the world becomes a vacuum and everything else falls away. Except Elizabeth. She is his focus.

"No, but I am now," he says, as Dembe pulls the car over on a small road at the side of the property. They will go the rest of the way on foot.

"I don't suppose there is any use saying I should enter first."

"Yes," but when they exit the vehicle and begin their approach, Red continues with deadly calm. "No use at all."

* * *

She's going to splinter in two. The drug coursing through her blood slams her forward against the restraints then back into the chair. Forward. Back. A cycle that doesn't end. This must be what drowning feels like. The desperate fight for the surface only to be pulled under again.

Muffled voices as she struggles to stay in the present.  _Take the risk._  A burning at her arm and she is dragged back to the closet. The girl. Shouting. Angry words.

_Where is she?_

_Who's Masha?_

_You are._

* * *

They move like a single machine, so many times have they done this, taking out Braxton's men as they go. It happens quickly, methodically until they reach the stairs and he feels the urgency to pick up speed. Forces his mind to concentrate and not make a mistake before he finds her. At last they reach the final door that separates them and he is through it and firing to take out the last guard almost simultaneously.

And never stops running.

Down the ramp of the empty pool to her side. No response. He places a hand on her leg but still she does not move. Moves his hand, more pressure. Nothing.

_Is she okay?_

He can't look away, can't seem to not touch her now that he has found her. Brushes her hair from her face, thinking if she would only open her eyes. Let him see their striking blue in this colorless room, but she is so still. He breathes with the rise and fall of her chest but she is too far away from him to reach.

He must find her in the memory.

_If she continued would it be dangerous for her? Could she be harmed in any way?_

Because he must recover the Fulcrum. Not only for him, but for her. With Fitch gone, there is no more protection from the deal they struck decades ago. The danger that never really left them is growing again. Braxton wasn't the real threat, only a petty thief hired to locate the file. It is who hired him that he must fight now. The Director. The Cabal. Enemies at every door and he has no other bargaining chip to use to ensure their survival.

* * *

She is down too deep to surface again. There is no escape from the house, the violence. She can't leave now, not this close to it. The room she struggles to enter.

_The Fulcrum. Can you see it? Can you hear me, Lizzy?_

God, if he can keep her out of that room. If he can keep her safe somehow as he takes her arms when she pushes at him to go toward where she cannot go. The Fulcrum is not there. She must not see what lies in that room.

_Shhhh. You don't want to see this._

Fighting him. Desperate to get past him. To see.

_Turn around, go back. You don't want to go in there._

Desperate to keep her from it.

Screaming. A gunshot. And a hand she brings to her chest, holding on before she is swept away.

_What'd she see?_ She clings to his hand and the need to pull her back overwhelms him. Nothing is worth this. He'll find another way to keep her safe.

Smoke and flame. A body on the ground. A girl that will die if they don't get out of the closet. Screaming that goes on and on and on.

Until there is only the roar of the flames, from every direction as the world falls around them. As it stops spinning and there is no one else in the room. When her body relaxes and his hand falls to rest in her lap, she finds it again. The damaged knuckles her fingers skim across, soothing the pain there.

Her face turns toward him and she must know that he is there, sense his presence somehow. She leans into him as his hand circles around to her back. They are alone. The only ones that can pull themselves from the inferno that has reached them again.

She is coming back to him. So close now. And finally she opens her eyes to meet his.

_You were there._

But like a house ablaze she collapses within herself. Withdraws like a wounded creature that he fears going near. He can't know what she has gone through. The fear that she will somehow go back to that dark place she only recently managed to claw her way out of.

And what had helped bring her back is a lie.

All this time since Berlin and Tom, the boat and Ames, all of it, he had stayed. When the reason for his surrender was no longer a threat he did not leave. When she shut herself away, he was with her. Her return to the task force and he was there. She foolishly thought it was for her alone. How could she be so blind? The emptiness she felt after she freed herself of everything that happened is nothing compared to this. How is that possible?

_That's why you came into my life then. And that's why you're here now. Not because of me, or who I am to you, whatever connection we might have but because of some object. Some thing._

She is retreating, drifting further and further.

_My father was killed because of the Fulcrum, because you and your people came for it that night. Well, I want you to know something. This charade of you pretending to care about me was a waste of your time because I don't know where it is._

She does not know how her father died and he won't correct this misperception. His only fleeting solace is she will not discover how it came to be.

_Don't!_

Her yell echoes through the room as she pulls her arm from his grasp when he attempts to help her from the chair. As if his touch is painful to her and he recoils from the shock wave that throws him back a step or two. She is gone and he watches her climb out of the pool to exit the room. Fitting that he is left at the bottom of what feels like a tomb when every other emotion is stealing the breath from his body.

* * *

She only answers because it is Dembe's number and not  _Nick's Pizza._

"Yes," she says uncertainly.

"Elizabeth."

Dembe. She is both thankful and disappointed. But not surprised. Red would not call her tonight of all nights.

"Is something wrong?"

What a question when everything is wrong and inside out, but she is at a loss for what else to say.

"No, there is nothing the matter."

"Did he ask you to call?" She asks suddenly as the thought crosses her mind. The anger entering her voice for the first time.

"Elizabeth, I called to make sure you are safe, that is all. Raymond is unaware and would not approve of my bothering you after such an ordeal," he answers quietly. Calmly.

She exhales and the anger goes with it to be replaced by the first real emotion of any kind. One she'd have difficulty naming as everything feels foreign to her. This simple kindness and she has no place to put it.

"It's not a bother and yes I'm safe. Already back at the motel."

"That is good," he replies and then pauses searching for how to continue. "Call this number if there is ever a need. This one as well as….the other."

"I'm not sure I can, Dembe, but I appreciate that more than you know."

"I'll say goodnight—"

"Wait. Is he..."

What? Alright? Devastated? Does he feel anything at all? Does he understand she can't seem to trust in anything anymore? Trust him? Her thoughts. Memories. What she had begun to feel….but the panic causes her to grab hold of the bed as the sensation of falling hits her again.

Does he know what it meant to her that he stayed?

_But it was the Fulcrum._

Doubt. And the familiarity of it falls around her like a cloak. This she can name. This she can hold fast to.

"He is many things, Elizabeth, but it is not for me to say. Be well."

He disconnects and looks toward the stairs of the safehouse. The one Raymond climbed as soon as they entered, without a word or the scotch to numb the pain. There was nothing left to say. Not tonight.

Liz holds the phone to her chest and has the vague recollection of doing the same when she held his hand. When he pulled her away from that house and brought her back tonight. With a shake of her head she drives the image from her mind. She no longer knows what is real. The fire. These scars they share. Confused words that hold no meaning. Dr. Orchard has made it clear her memory has been altered and there is no way to make sense of her jumbled thoughts.

With a glance at the stuffed bunny she inexplicably felt the need to find tonight, her eyes fall to the seam ripped down the middle, then to the small box she has discovered within. It was here all this time. The Fulcrum.

The reason he stayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lizzy snatching her arm away from Red's hand still destroys me, but I left it because something interesting happens in the episodes that follow. Oh and the angst is gasping its last. It went on entirely too long imo.


	20. Milonga

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline 2.11

_At the outset, they are opponents…._

 

Liz moves to a new motel the day after her rescue from Luther Braxton. It was to have been her last. Where she retreated following her leave from the FBI and where she came back to life. The lobby she visited every day for some little gift that was left for her to the amusement of the desk clerk. The section of city she walked incessantly and the park they sat in one wintery day. It began to feel more and more temporary as the weeks passed and she returned to work, to the point she had entertained the thought of finally renting an apartment.

A new beginning in a new year and she laughed at her own sentimentality. It was not to be. Between the black site prison and being taken by Braxton, to the forced memory recall, very little seems promising to her now. She is mired in the past. In memories she thought she wanted, but the way they were brought about has shaken her to her core.

_Who is Masha?_

_You are._

It never leaves her mind. Scattered thoughts, fragments of memory and words shouted in anger. Smoke and fire and the screams of a child. All because of this strange device found hidden in her childhood toy. How many lives were destroyed because of it? She has no idea and therefore, has no intention of handing it over to anyone and most especially the FBI or Reddington.

Two days later she moves again, telling herself it is not running. He can find her and no doubt already knows exactly where she is. It is simply easier to give into the restlessness that she can't outdistance.

Days pass without  _Nick's Pizza_  appearing on her phone and she tries not to think of him in the same pain she is in. Both are wounded and not wanting a repeat of their last interaction at the bottom of the empty pool. On the seventh day the call comes as if he purposely waited the week out to give her time. It goes unanswered. Dembe calls on the eighth and ninth day and she hates the guilt of not answering but this is between Red and herself.

When he finally descends on her office, the frustration is immediate and palpable with Aram wasting no time in leaving them on their own. Unfortunately the frustration wastes no time in turning to anger.

_I know exactly how this works. You lie, say what you need to say to make me believe you actually care._

_That's not true._

_You're after the Fulcrum. It's why you're here. Not to help me or protect me or whatever spin you're selling today. Well I'm not buying it. From this point on there's no reason for us to talk unless it's about the work._

_Fine, then let's work._

Here they are again. Distrust. Secrets. And so very guarded. Watching him walk from her office toward the elevator she is at least grateful this latest case will take her out of the country. Perhaps separated by an ocean she will get her bearings again. A negotiation for a kidnapped CIA agent. Simple enough.

* * *

_Each has something the other wants…._

 

She should have known. He is here waiting when they enter the hotel and, of course, he never said a word about it. Simply acts as nothing is out of the ordinary and has the nerve to invite them to dinner.

"Reddington, a word please." Not giving him time to argue, she moves out of earshot of Ressler and turns her back on the both of them. And waits. Breathes slowly.  _Do not lose your temper._

When he steps in front of her she continues in a hushed tone, not wanting to be overheard, "I know what you're up to. Trying to make me trust you again isn't going to get you closer to the Fulcrum."

It is all she can do not to poke her finger in his chest for emphasis.

She is positively fuming even whispering as she is and he thinks how lovely are her eyes when they flash fire at him. Completely distracted as only she seems to make him that he almost misses the little clue she inadvertently gives him.

When he responds it is without the bravado of a few moments ago, replaced by a quiet curiosity as he watches her a few seconds before replying, "It is enough for now to know I gained your trust at all. As for getting closer to the Fulcrum, one would have to know its location to draw nearer to it. Have you come into possession of that information, Lizzy?"

_Damn him._

Not here five minutes and already he has her saying too much. Without a word she turns and walks to the elevator. Away from the small smile that forms as he follows her retreat and the tilt of his head as he begins to wonder.

* * *

_They size one another up, assessing risk, setting boundaries, challenging each other to breach them..._

 

"Aram, I need you to access the hotel registry. Read me the guest list starting with the suites. Reddington is here and I want to know exactly where he's staying," and listening to the reply on the other end, she continues rather testily. "Yes, I could ask him or Dembe but….look, just give me the names please."

Takes no time at all.  _Kenneth Rathers._ She has spent enough time in his company the last year to have picked up on a few of his favorite aliases. Now at least she knows where he is, but glancing at the room number she realizes, as fate would have it, his room is directly above her own.

"For god's sake."

"Agent Keen, are you—"

"I'm fine, Aram, it's all fine."

And with a sigh at this familiar stand by, she disconnects. Did he arrange that and how can she find out without him finding out she was checking up on him?  _What's going on with you and Reddington? You two have a little lover's quarrel?_ Recalling Ressler's comment and with a glare toward the ceiling, she decides room service is the better option than the plan to meet for dinner. She's had enough battles for one day.

Red, on the other hand, is ready for round two, but with another check of the time he realizes she is late.

"What, are you in the doghouse?"

And she's left him to have dinner with Agent Ressler. It seems she has won this little skirmish and with a nod at the bartender, he orders another martini.

Ignoring her scowl the next day as they follow Denisov toward the hospital, he moves next to her and says quietly, "That's not playing fair leaving me on my own with Donald."

She can tell he's highly amused she stayed in her room and purposely doesn't look his way in order to avoid that know it all smile. He's trying to unsettle her and he shouldn't bother. She's unsettled enough on her own.

"And you forgot to mention you're negotiating on behalf of Denisov. We're even, I'd say."

"Hmmm that's debatable."

His voice has dropped to a low rumble in her ear but he's just far enough away not to touch her. In fact, he hasn't even linked an arm through hers as is his custom, not that she'd expect him to. Or want it, for that matter.

"Reddington, what do you need?" She gives him an exasperated glance and sure enough there's the smile she expected, hidden behind the feigned innocence he's been wearing all day. With a huff she picks up her pace.

He's right there with her matching her steps. "What do I need? So many things, Elizabeth, but tell you what. If you find no truth in what Denisov shows you regarding the crimes the oil company has perpetrated against the people of his country then we'll say no more and negotiations can continue tomorrow. But if you discover there is another side to this game of spies and greed then we'll continue the discussion over drinks tonight."

"You're pushing your luck."

"Drinks and baklava, Lizzy.  _Now_  I'm pushing my luck. All you have to do is tell me the Uzbek people don't deserve someone negotiating on their behalf."

They've reached the entrance to the building and he holds the door for her with an arch of his brow waiting to see if she'll accept the bargain.

A slight nod in his direction and he's already thinking of the evening ahead.

* * *

_A sensuous battle. Violence and sex balanced on the blade of a knife…._

 

Steps inside the hospital, Liz realizes she has lost the challenge. If she's completely honest with herself she knew it when he proposed the deal. Something more is going on than an agent taken hostage and as they walk the corridors, they witness what the poisoning of a country can do to its people.

She seems to have found herself on the side of the CIA protecting an oil company while Red is here on behalf of those hurt in the process.  _No sides, only players._ It certainly doesn't feel that way but she is here to help facilitate the release of the agent. Then she'd like nothing more than to go home.

There is, however, the issue of the wager she lost. Back in her hotel room she can't help another glare leveled at the ceiling, knowing he's up there grinning at the prospect of their evening together. She can do nothing but set about getting ready, a deal is a deal after all. Except she really didn't bring anything other than her normal FBI wear and is irritated that she cares.

It doesn't matter. This is simply a meeting to discuss the negotiation. Over drinks. And dessert. Perfectly natural for her to do something different with her hair and makeup. It's not like this is a….

"Don't even say it," she tells herself in the mirror and leaves before she has the chance to respond.

He's waiting for her again. Had arrived early to the hotel bar and is sipping a scotch and checking his watch when she walks into his periphery. Dazzling even before he turns to look at her and he swallows at the sudden dryness in his mouth. She's beautiful but he doesn't say it when he reaches her.

There is no need. It is there in his expression, the way his eyes narrow as he focuses on her. The swallow she doesn't miss or the smile playing at the corners of his mouth. No words as he indicates the direction of the hotel nightclub, his hand at her back but still he does not touch her. She can feel the warmth of it but not the pressure. He will not cross that line and she can't believe she wants him to.

_Just one bite._

But she's not here for the baklava. Or the heat of the room. The music of the tango milonga. The play of power within the dance. His voice dropped low in rhythm with their movements.

_Nothing given that is not earned, nothing taken that is not given._

Hypnotic. The push and pull, the allure of the risk. Circling one another until they are compelled to act. To touch. Embrace. The intensity building until….

_What's wrong?_

_Everything._

The breaking of the spell.

* * *

_This is the pure essence of negotiation. Not a poker game, but a milonga…._

 

It is something to witness, she must admit. All the players gathered for the final round and Reddington holding all the cards. The uncovering of a secret pipeline and the pollution and death that followed. She is reminded of the Mombasa Cartel. His protection of the powerless. This is the true reason he came. To insist the debt be paid as is his way. He must consider throwing her off balance with every step a nice bonus.

The oil company representative is no match for Red and Liz could almost feel sorry for him. Almost.

"Can I get some water please?" he finally asks.

"Yes! Of course," Red responds enthusiastically reaching into his briefcase. "This is the water they drink in the villages, the ones directly above your pipeline."

She can't help but smile as he plunks the water on the table. It's almost like a secret they share, these things he fights for.

Of course, there is always a turn she didn't see coming. The new oil company that will now develop the region or Reddington's share in the profits. Her anger that he had another agenda and their confrontation.

But now as she paces her hotel room the anger is gone. Just a flash as it so often is where he is concerned. With a look toward the ceiling, she doesn't stop to talk herself out of it and within minutes is knocking on his door.

Dembe answers and after their greeting moves past her into the hall and disappears around the corner. She's left standing on the threshold wondering what possessed her to walk up here.

"Lizzy? Are you staying or going or simply admiring the door?"

"Oh shut up," she mutters and hears his chuckle from the next room.

When she finally enters the suite she finds him sitting at the table reading a newspaper and sipping tea. Also looking very pleased with himself as he smiles and waves her over.

"Sit, sit. Dembe and I were discussing dinner plans. Would you like to join?'

His ability to act like nothing is amiss between them never ceases to amaze but it's a defense. She has enough insight to discern that, however much he remains a mystery.

"I'm afraid I'll have to pass. Ressler and I are taking the red eye home."

"Ah well, that's a shame. I don't suppose you'd opt for the jet," but seeing her expression he doesn't finish the sentence. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Oh I don't know."

The restlessness is back and she stands and walks to the window, feeling him watching her progress across the room.

"Did you know I was down there?" she asks not turning to look at him.

"Down where?"

"There," she says with a glance back at him as she points to the floor.

"I did," he replies, obviously curious at her inquiry. "I didn't arrange it if that was to be your next question."

It would have been as they both know. No he didn't arrange it, but he certainly has thought about it once Dembe informed him of their room numbers. Difficult not to imagine her only one floor below when sleep wouldn't come. Wondering if she was lying awake as he was.

He sees the slight shrug of her shoulders as she looks back out the window with the sun setting beyond her, framing her in crimson. What a sentimental fool he is imagining her keeping the darkness away.

"Just one of those funny workings of fate, I suppose. Actually now that I think of it I'm surprised Ressler didn't end up with the room. Fate has a hell of a sense of humor on occasion."

He makes her laugh every time and with a shake of her head she walks to the table and sits once more.

"You know, the millions you'll make on the new pipeline deal notwithstanding, you did something important. Exposing what happened to the people here."

"Thank you," he says quietly. "But it was the negotiation that brought it about. Both sides coming together."

Yes, she understands the slight inflection in his voice. A reminder of what they can accomplish when they work in sync rather than opposition.

"I can't believe you Erin Brockovich'd that oil executive. Quite a play."

"I did what?"

"With the water. Don't pretend you don't understand," and she rolls her eyes at his quiet laugh.

He knows precisely what she means. As he so often does as annoying as that may be.

"Well, I should be going—"

"Lizzy, will you do something for me?"

He's grown quite serious and for a fleeting second she wonders if he will ask her about the Fulcrum. Not only that but what her response would be here in his suite as the evening light is fading around them.

"What?"

A whisper. Waiting as he prolongs the question.

"Will you at least try the baklava before leaving?"

Followed by her heavy sigh but a smile quickly follows. Both notice the change in mood immediately, how it has been lifted even for a moment.

"I have an hour, Red. Better make it quick."

"Right," he says, rising to place a call for room service.

She almost misses it, so brief is the movement. His hand that raises just a fraction as he passes her. As if he would have touched her arm.

He doesn't and she swears there is just the slightest chill where he would have laid his hand but held back.

 

_A tango. A seduction._


	21. Possibility

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline 2.12 - 2.13

_It's far beyond the stars_  
_It's near beyond the moon_  
_I know beyond a doubt  
_ _My heart will lead me there soon_

* * *

Liz has heard of it, of course, but never experienced it, even with all the danger she has faced. The stewmaker and Anslo with a gun to her head. Tom and his violent assault. All these moments faced with the uncertainty of her survival, she has never known what it meant. A life flashing before her eyes.

Her life or what is left of it.

As soon as she loses the struggle with the Deer Hunter and finds herself bound and swinging high off the ground, the images come in rapid succession. Dizzying as they inundate her while she spins out of control.

All her regrets converging and finding her when she is powerless to run from them. Tom and the boat with Ames lying dead on the floor. Pulling her arm from Raymond's hand and the absence of his touch that lingers. The Fulcrum hidden away and the lies she tells to keep it that way. The key to the apartment he purchased, the one she hasn't set foot in. His regret mixing with hers, compounding every moment.

The killer's words make it through her memories. A woman destroyed by her husband and turning into exactly the same monstrous thing he was. Cloaking herself in his atrocities.

Is this what she will become as the image of the Harbormaster's lifeless form comes to mind? Not by her hand but she allowed the cover-up. Accepted the deception and added to it. Irreparable damage and god, she wishes every day there was something she could do.

Acting on her instincts as a profiler, she taunts the killer, seizing her opportunity to choke the life from her.

_Tom, no._

An involuntary scream as the image of the murder plays in her mind like a film. Over and over and over again. Is this what it has come to? Has his madness finally infected her as well, so similar to what became of the woman lying unconscious at her feet?

* * *

It had to have been the DMV, Red thinks, and silently curses Glen for making him wait an hour in that god awful place. Not once but twice and finding the location of Alan Fitch's secret apartment in St. Petersburg does not make up for the cold that has caught up to him. Most likely from the woman sneezing over his head while  _Jellybean_  ignored him from his office.

With a sigh of resignation he leaves the confines of the cozy Mercedes and shuffles toward the coffee shop.

"Raymond, are you—"

"I'm fine, Dembe. Just dandy."

He's lying through his teeth and his friend's dubious  _uh huh_ lets him know he isn't fooling anyone. Taking his mint tea to the counter he doesn't even bother removing his heavy winter coat, hoping it will ward off the chill seeping into his bones. At least they are early and he has time to gather his thoughts and perhaps tamp down the irritation that has been building. Chasing after a serial killer without backup, he cannot fathom her thought process.

She did not want him involved in this case. It was hers and he had no business there. He could read it in the scowl on her face as if she spoke the words out loud. There are many things he can read there, now that he knows where to look. Understands the nuances of her mood and affect. Some as clear to him as her lie regarding the Fulcrum. She has knowledge of it or is even in possession of it and her attempts to keep him at arm's length behind her passive expression is the most telling of all.

It is the only reason he insinuated himself into the investigation. A deal. Help in solving the case in exchange for information on the Fulcrum. Simple enough until she found herself captured by the killer. He was informed of her rescue by those he has embedded in the task force but it was her phone call that surprised him. The late night calls have all but ceased to exist but not last night. It seems she felt the need to reach out to him in the early hours of the morning. That time they both find it difficult to keep their demons away.

"Lizzy." He had answered immediately, just needing to say her name.

"I'm sure you're already aware but I'm safe. Samar and Ressler reached me in time."

"Yes, I—"

"The killer was a woman. You were right, of course."

Something in her voice catches him, a trace of defeat he has never heard there and it gnaws at him. Can't place the source of it. The profile change she didn't see or the murder investigation of the Harbormaster she has yet to bring up to him? Perhaps if he tells her now there won't be an indictment…

"Elizabeth—"

"I have to go."

Nothing more to be gained from her whispered words and so he called her this morning and arranged to meet later in the afternoon. Surprisingly she had agreed and perhaps he'll be better able to gauge what she is feeling.

 _You all right?_ when he finally sees her approach but he quickly follows with  _What were you thinking running after a killer alone without backup?_ So much for keeping his anger in check.

Her expression is back to the inscrutable mask of late but he recognizes the vague annoyance. Much the same as his own expression, he has no doubt.

_You were right about the Deer Hunter. He was a man._

A continuation of their phone call with the hope she will see her accuracy in profiling the original killer.

_And a woman, We were both half right._

_Together we were right._

Somehow he still believes it, even with how estranged they've become. There must be a part of her that does too when she finally admits to having the Fulcrum. But nothing is ever easy between them and she won't give up its location without knowing what it does. An impasse once again.

She doesn't want his protection and the frustration that only she seems able to bring out finally overflows. He hears the edge in his own voice as he informs her he thwarted her indictment and there is no need to worry about the Harbormaster anymore.

That is all she is willing to listen to, not wanting the details of the illegality on her conscious as well as everything else. She is leaving but his words stop her and she turns to face him. Words there were no plan for. No time to contemplate as he says the thing that he hardly believes himself but there is a truth to it. It lies in the connection that pulls them back toward each other time and again.

_I believe I know the real reason you don't want me to have the Fulcrum._

_That is?_

_Because you're afraid that once you give it to me, you'll be of no further use to me and you'll never see me again._

He watches her leave and walk across the freshly fallen snow beyond the window. His words hit their mark but little does she know he has the same fear. That she will for once and all tell him to go leaving him adrift without her. Yes, he knows the fear very well.

* * *

She drives straight to  _The Audrey_  from the coffee shop. The key stayed locked in her desk at the Post Office for days until she inexplicably brought it back to the motel. She has found herself taking it out at odd moments to hold in her hand and wonder about, running through his words the night he gave it to her.

_It's time to leave the motel behind._

And go where? Her life seems too transient to contemplate beginning again. The brief period of time after the holidays when she thought of moving to an apartment went as quickly as it came. The fleeting optimism could not withstand Braxton's invasion of her memories or learning the Fulcrum was the real reason Red stayed after Berlin was dealt with.

The discovery of Ames' body and the murder investigation made any thought of permanence ridiculous. Even with the knowledge Red has prevented her indictment brings no relief. How can she think of accepting this apartment when what has been done to that man's family never leaves her thoughts?

He should have talked to her first, asked her opinion. She's not even surprised he never consulted her but went right ahead with the purchase. A penthouse no less with views of the Potomac. What was he thinking?

As she enters the lobby and proceeds to the elevators, she can feel the familiar exasperation. The penthouse. Of course that is the one he'd choose. Something overdone and probably already professionally decorated and he can think again.

But no, as she walks in she sees that it is empty, except for a sofa that has been placed in the living area. That is all and she suddenly thinks it was put there for the simple reason she would need a place to sit while she figured out what to do with the rest of the space. Thoughtful and practical and it brings the first smile to her face in days. Only Red would think of that.

She passes through the rooms quickly and she must admit the penthouse label is somewhat deceiving. It is lovely without doubt but simple. Something she would probably choose if she were inclined to purchase.

Finally moving to the balcony, she looks out at what is indeed a splendid view of the river. Facing west toward the evening sun with the Post Office and the FBI behind her. This is the view she would have wanted and perhaps that is why he selected the highest apartment available. The one offering the ability to see far into the distance and shake off the claustrophobia that surrounds her daily life.

She understands now, his reasons for buying it for her even though she can't accept it. At least she knows she can't live here but she doesn't want to give the key back either. He walked these rooms and looked at the same vista as she is right now and she needs to keep that close for a little longer.

_You've been many things lately, Lizzy, but happy is not one of them. That motor lodge you call home crushes the spirit, smothers the soul._

_And you think a view is going to change that?_

_I once stayed at a villa in Bali with a view of the Indian Ocean. Every morning, all I saw before me was possibility._

This is what he wants for her, all the possibilities. To see something other than regret stretching out in front of her with so much already behind. The real gift hidden within a penthouse apartment.

With a sigh she turns away and already knows her next destination. Just one stop to make first.

* * *

If she'd had the second thought on the street below she could have avoided all this embarrassment but as it happens she doesn't falter until crossing the threshold of their hotel suite.

Looking over Dembe's shoulder she's relieved Red isn't in sight and decides perhaps another day would be better. One when he is feeling better and she doesn't feel so foolish…

"Uh Dembe, I think I'll just leave this here and go—"

"Dembe, I feel like complete death—"

Red has walked out into the sitting room from his bedroom interrupting her plan of escape and stops abruptly seeing her. It's rare that he is this caught off-guard but standing there in his robe and probably not much else underneath and his shock is evident. With a towel draped around his neck, he looks to have just stepped from the shower and for the life of her she can't get over seeing him in his bare feet. Why on earth didn't she call first but then she'd have missed this.

Thankfully, Dembe comes to the rescue as neither seem to know what to say next. "Raymond, Elizabeth has brought you some soup. Why don't you get dressed. Eating something might help."

"Yes, I'll—"

"Don't get dressed on my account." Good god, she thinks, hearing the way that sounded which is immediately followed by Dembe's snicker and Red's eyebrows disappearing into his forehead.

"What I meant was, don't come out here in a three-piece suit."

"Lizzy, in all honesty I doubt I could manage it," he says with a smile before retreating back into his room.

"Dembe, just kill me," she whispers.

Another laugh as he takes the bag from her hand and ushers her to the table. "You're doing fine, Elizabeth. Now I'm going to have room service send up tea and you two can split the soup."

"Oh, but the extra is for you."

"I thank you for that but I think it is better shared between you. I'll be in my room. Enjoy."

"But—"

He's gone and she is as out of sorts as before. This is what she does. Shows up unannounced or calls in the middle of the night without any idea what to say. Simply giving into the need to…

What? She can't imagine.

The tea has already arrived by the time he makes an appearance again and she wonders if he sat in there trying to get his equilibrium back as she has been doing out here. She thinks he really must be sick as he's still wearing the robe only with pajama bottoms and a blue t shirt underneath. The bare feet are now covered in socks and suddenly she is glad she came if only to see him like this, sick though he may be.

"Chicken noodle?"

"I'm sorry."

"The soup. Is it chicken noodle?" he asks with a smile seeing her confusion.

"Cheeseburger chowder."

"Bless you."

With a laugh she ushers him to the table and hands over his container and the plastic spoon from the restaurant. Quite a picture they make eating take out in his elegant suite.

"I brought this for Dembe," indicating her own container. "But he said we should share."

"Dembe is very wise."

A smile but she doesn't respond and they eat in silence for a few minutes.

"I'm sorry you're sick."

"It had to have been the DMV. Is there a torture on earth worse than being packed in a petri dish with a hundred other poor devils all for the reward of a horrible picture and the opportunity to lie about one's weight? Although that last part is an advantage, I suppose."

"Well, I had wanted to say something at the coffee shop but…"

"We weren't at our best, were we?"

"No and we should work on that," she says quietly.

"Yes."

They say no more until both have finished and the tea has been poured. "Lizzy, this was delicious and very much appreciated," he mumbles contentedly.

"You're welcome but I think it's putting you to sleep," seeing the exhaustion in his features and rising from the table she beckons with her hand for him to follow. "Come on."

"Where?"

He really is clueless at times but then so is she and with a smile she continues, "To your room, Red. You're going to lie down and we're going to talk until you fall asleep. Which probably won't be long by the looks of you. All right?"

"All right."

He follows her into his room and watches as she pulls back the covers on the bed and turns, waiting for him to approach.

"Robe," she says matter of factly and there is no room for argument in her expression.

With a sigh he hands it over and gets in, pulling the blankets over him to keep out the chill. Scooting over he makes sure to leave enough room for her to sit.

When she does, she gets right down to business. "Now, have you seen a doctor? Are you taking something?"

"Yes to both."

"Good. And no scotch until you're better. You need fluids and not the kind from the highlands."

"Lizzy—" He stops at her scowl and simply nods.

"Excellent. See how easy it is when you cooperate." Her smile replaces the scowl in an instant.

"Not easy for me, I'll admit," is his quiet response.

"Nor me, I will also admit. Will you do something for me?"

"Of course, if I can."

"Tell me how you got the indictment dropped. I think I need to hear it."

And so he does. With his voice low and a little scratchy he tells her of Samuel Aleko and a brother that will be saved. His sacrifice of an immunity deal to bring that about. Some small measure of good to come from all this.

"It won't make it right though."

"Lizzy, it will never be  _right_ , but there is no benefit from you spending your life in jail for the crime of another. There is nothing  _right_  about that. One day you are going to have to forgive yourself and place the blame where it belongs."

He is so earnest as he says it, willing her to believe him, that she can't simply brush past it.

"I do, but I can't shake the guilt I feel. Maybe I should go to that detective and tell him everything."

"And what would that solve? You'd go to jail and the task force would end. There is still work for us to do, lives to save."

"What?" he asks hearing her soft laugh.

"Ressler said almost the exact same thing."

"God, I really must be ill if Ressler and I are agreeing on anything. Be that as it may, the work we do has a benefit. You may find in time that an opportunity will arise to put right some of the wrong Tom committed on that boat."

How desperately she hopes that this could be true but let's the subject go for now.

"I went to the apartment today and I understand why you purchased it. Even though you should have talked to me first."

"Yes, it was a decision made in haste." He chuckles at her scolding tone then immediately grows more serious. "You know, I did what you're doing right now. After I lost my home. Family. I roamed about not allowing myself to put down roots until it became impossible to stay in one place. It was the thought of that happening to you that prompted the purchase. I don't suppose you're willing to accept the apartment?"

The thought of what he went through causes a tightening in her chest and she wishes more than anything she could see herself there as he does. The image simply will not last but she is so deeply touched by the meaning behind it. "I don't think I can live there right now but I'll be hanging onto the key if that's okay."

"Of course. It's in your name after all." Quietly as the pain enters his voice, knowing her suffering hasn't come to an end.

"I think you're falling asleep."

And opening his eyes, he realizes he is indeed drifting off. "The benefits of good soup."

"I'm going to go and let you rest. Call tomorrow and let me know how you feel."

"Wait," as he holds out a hand toward her, stopping just as it approaches her knee where she sits facing him. An inch or so away but no further. All this time she has sat close to him, near enough to feel the warmth from his body but still they have not touched since she wrenched her arm from his grasp. More regret that settles over her.

"What is it?"

When he continues all his own sorrow meets her gaze. "Elizabeth, there are things I don't know how to tell you, I can't deny it, but I need you to understand something. I didn't stay because of the Fulcrum. The truth is the thought of leaving never occurred to me. I remain here to be near you, it's as simple as that."

"But you need the Fulcrum."

 _I need you more._ How he wishes he had the strength to say it.

"The protection I had from The Cabal ended with Alan Fitch's death. Measures will have to be taken once I know what the exact threat is or will be. That does not change the veracity of what I just said."

She is certain of the truth in his words. The emotion behind his eyes leaves no room for doubt and she is able to meet it with her own candor.

"It meant everything to me that you stayed," she whispers, not attempting to disguise the catch in her voice.

At her admission, he relaxes back onto the pillow and closes his eyes. As if her words have soothed some deep hurt and he can finally rest. She wants nothing more than to reach out to him and take his hand and the image of lying next to him suddenly comes to mind. Curled into his side as they both drift off and….

_Oh._

She hears her own intake of breath at the impact. Well, this certainly complicates matters but she can't deny the desire to do so has been there for some time, waiting to be acknowledged. And now the possibility of it rests there in the space between them that they no longer cross.

She lets out a somewhat shaky breath and rubs her hands up and down her thighs a few times attempting to calm the nerves that have surfaced. After a few moments when her pulse slows back to normal she rises and slips one of the pillows out from under his head. He mumbles something she doesn't catch and with a smile and a shake of her head she reaches for the lamp on the bedside table.

Watches him for a minute or two before switching out the light and whispering into the darkness, "Goodnight, Raymond."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always thought James had a cold during the filming of The Deer Hunter so it seemed like a good time for Red to catch one too.


	22. Lastly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline 2.14

_Among the living_  
_Among the living again  
_ _Out in the light of day's warm embrace again_

* * *

Red's going to have hell to pay.

Not from Earl or his demented sons. Nor Dembe for ignoring common sense and falling into yet another one of Madeline's traps. Not from those in attendance at the latest King family auction, many of which will be only too happy to witness his downfall. There's only one person on his mind as he stands in this absurd glass box being measured for a tuxedo.

Lizzy.

He could have waited for the FBI before running in all but unprotected to the nightclub where the trap was set, but it always has to be his own way. There really is no one else to blame when he finds himself in these scrapes. She had warned him but of course he knew better and now he can only wait and see how it plays out. At least Dembe is on the outside and perhaps between him and the FBI, they will be able to determine who ends up with the  _Concierge of Crime_  as their prize.

* * *

She's not sure what she'd rather do first when they actually find him. Hug him or strangle him. Perhaps both and then tell him in no uncertain terms it doesn't always have to be his way and will he once and for all stop mingling with Madeline Pratt? Her sharp exhale of breath is almost painful as she follows Samar to Cooper's office.  _When they find him_ but the thought that has entered her mind causes the fear to knot in her chest.  _If they find him._

The idea formed almost immediately. As soon as they took the art buyer into custody she wondered if it was possible. Could she take the woman's place and make her way to the secret auction instead?

_They're expecting an American named Josephine Sullivan. We can give them that._

_I know you want him back but there has to be another way._

Samar is right to be concerned. She would be completely unprotected, but what choice does she have? There is no other option. The need pulls her toward the danger without a second thought. The familiarity of it settles over her as she prepares to infiltrate the compound just as she infiltrated a black site prison only a few months previously.

The only goal was to get him back but it was she that ended up being taken. Her mind torn apart leaving the chasm that has grown between them as a result. It isn't the memory of what Braxton did to her that causes her to pause, but Red's hand that reached for her in the corridor of the prison and pulled her to him. Her certainty of whose touch it was even before she saw him.

She can close her eyes and picture it so vividly just as she does now. His breath on her skin and involuntarily she reaches a hand toward where his head had rested against hers for the briefest second but there is only emptiness to meet it.

Her awareness of his reticence never leaves her now. It's in the air around them, this hesitancy that pushes them further away, keeping him on guard and fearful of crossing a line that she drew at the bottom of the pool. When she couldn't bear his touch because she was splintering apart and now she has no idea how to mend the damage. How could she have known when the shock and fear finally wore off that she would miss that contact with him. That she would notice the absence of it every single time she is in his presence. That she would imagine herself lying in his arms and with a shake of her head she brings herself back to the present and away from the memory of watching him sleep.

The transformation into the elegant Josephine is complete and she pushes the very confused Elizabeth to the side for the moment. There is no time to think as the plan proceeds with her entrance into the hotel and the code words offered to the desk clerk. She is walking into the unknown as she steps off the elevator into the deserted parking garage and she stifles the fear behind her placid mask.

_I know you want him back but there has to be another way._

None that she can see as she climbs into the car and takes the glass in her hand. A sedative obviously and one designed to leave her completely vulnerable and at the mercy of the Kings. Without hesitation she drinks and the effects are instantaneous. There is the fleeting memory of him reaching her as the missiles impacted The Factory and his arms that held on as long as he was able. _I know you want him…._ and she feels herself falling, desperate to keep him from being torn away.

Almost immediately, or so it seems, she wakes lying on a bed and the Red from her memory is nowhere around her. She is alone but somewhere inside the perimeter of the compound with the relief that she is one step closer to finding him.

* * *

The stolen merchandise doesn't bother him. It's part of his stock and trade after all. The intermediary between the legal and illegal provenance of more works of art than he could possibly remember. If it were only objects the King's dealt with, that would be one thing, but it is the stolen lives that he finds abhorrent. People auctioned off like they are nothing more than cattle and a reason he attempted to end Earl's life all those years ago. He should have done a better job as he thinks of the child sitting not ten feet from him. Given the chance he'd put a bullet into anyone who would attempt to purchase the boy but instead he sits helpless with his arms bound to the chair. The humiliation is difficult to swallow.

It is then that he sees her.

Slipping in amongst the crowd and moving along the periphery of the room, she takes a glass of champagne and begins making her way toward the auction listings. He forces his breathing back into a normal rhythm, following her with his eyes as she weaves in and out of the throng. She is mesmerizing and entirely unexpected. He never expected the FBI or his own people to find this location. His only hope was some type of escape or rescue in transit. Yet here she has come to bring him back just as before and it is nearly impossible to keep from pulling at the straps holding him in place, so strong is the need to reach her.

He's still unsure whether she knows his location but by the time she arrives on his side of the room he figures she must, though they have yet to make eye contact. With determination he faces forward and attempts to listen to her conversation with one of the King sons. He swears even now it is difficult to tell them apart, but he is able to assist her when she gets tripped up with a question about her made up background and there she is walking to him at last.

_Is that who I think it is...The Raymond Reddington? Impossible._

_You've changed your hair._

It is difficult to gauge her true mood with the pretense between them.

_I've heard he's far more trouble than he's worth. It's probably easier to let someone else buy him. Let him be their problem._

Well, perhaps not that difficult but either way he could not blame her. He is here because of the ridiculous cat and mouse game with Madeline. What still surprises is that she would follow him here on her own. Just the same as the black site prison and the anger is immediate. Not at Braxton but at himself. For putting them in danger once more especially after what happened last time.

He is beginning to think he would not see her again before the auction but she inexplicably moves into view offering them a few seconds of conversation.

'I've changed my mind," she says with a glance around to make sure they are not being overheard.

"I'm sorry."

For the life of him he has no idea how to respond as he watches her profile while she scans the room.

"About you being more trouble than you're worth so I'll be the highest bidder when this thing gets going. Dembe gave me an account. Seems he wants you back as well." She turns back and he swears there is a glint in her eye, the same one that appeared when she planned the embassy heist.

"Lizzy, this isn't a game—"

"Do you imagine I think this is a game?" she asks suddenly, whispering to mask the irritation in her voice.

"No, of course I don't. These people are dangerous—"

"And do you imagine I don't know that?"

Here they are bickering when all he wants to do is look at her. To reach for her hand but the straps have only grown tighter and they remain just as separated as before.

"Lizzy—"

"No, we can fight later, but first I'm going to get you out of here."

She flashes him the smallest of smiles and turns, disappearing into the crowd before he can respond. It is not until his lot number is called that he is able to catch another glimpse of her as he is ushered out for the bidding to proceed.

She has positioned herself as close to the auctioneer as possible not wanting to risk her bid being overlooked. It happens so quickly there is hardly time to think and she forces her attention to remain on Red. Two million to start, then to her and on around the room until it arrives back at her and his small smile as she brings the bid to seven. No words needed as they understand each other perfectly.

Until his interruption of the bidding with his own of nine million and the slight inclination of his head. It's as if he issued the warning out loud so clear is the message. She has been found out and his distraction is her chance to back out of the room.

All she needed was a few minutes more, but his warning cannot be ignored. Listening to him take over the proceedings, she exits the room and will have to find another way. If it's the last thing she does, however, she won't have him sold off to a bounty hunter. She can't lose him again.

* * *

He's barely been returned to his glass cell when he hears her voice from the next room. Her inquiry after the Van Gogh to distract the guard and the crash that follows. It's as if his heart stops mid-beat until he hears her beckon the boy to follow. She never even looks his way when she enters the room, simply places the boy next to the wall and goes about the business of unlocking the cell.

_Lizzy, you need to go._

_Dammit, what's the code?_

Frantically entering numbers into the keypad, she doesn't acknowledge his words, but he must get through to her. Get them out of here before they too are captured.

_Listen to me….take the boy and go._

_You could be killed._

Finally she looks at him as she steps nearer to the glass. He could not look away if he tried. Can't reach her with his hands bound and the transparent prison blocking the way. He follows her every movement. The glance over her shoulder and back again, taking in each feature, memorizing every detail over again. One last time before he must convince her to leave.

_Lizzy, you did everything you could. It's time to go. Go!_

He sees the resignation hit as she backs away with effort, but back away she does. Takes the boy's hand and retrieving the gun from the guard she knocked out, they run toward the tunnel leading to the exit. She moves out of sight just in time and with her goes his remaining hope that they will make it to safety.

At least he has the vision of that instead of Yaabari and the gun or the sneering smile of the King boy whom he still has difficulty distinguishing from his brother. It doesn't matter now as he is led into a small room for this final act.

The ugliness of the place and the coldness of the tile barely registers as he is slammed to his knees. The pain is fleeting as he stares ahead, thinking they must have reached the exit by now and are running from the compound. With this image he is able to let the rest go. Only seconds now as the gun is placed against his head. He has been here before and begins the ritual, pulling a memory forward before letting them go. Mr Kaplan and Dembe. Jennifer as the child he always imagines.

He feels the pressure of the weapon as the safety is disengaged. So this is the ending. So be it.

But it is the memories of their beginning that flood his mind in these final seconds. When he first walked into the FBI and dropped to his knees, much like he is now. How he waited in the box until her arrival and the impact of seeing her that day. How each time since still finds its mark with greater force.  _Yes, the girl, she's worth it._

It was all worth it.

The only regret he can summon is his inability to touch her once more. To brush his thumb across her brow and see the worry leave her features. To pull her closer and closer still. When he closes his eyes only her face remains. Simply that look she gives him when he can make her smile even for the briefest moment.

_Lizzy._

She must have heard him as her smile broadens at the exact instant the gunshot echoes through the room.

* * *

There is no way in hell she intends to go through that door. All but pushing the boy toward the exit she yells at him to run, hoping she will not be heard but that it will be enough to keep him racing from the building.

Retracing their steps takes very little time but the room where he was held is empty, the door to his cell left ajar. Dammit, she has no idea where they could have taken him in this maze and she passes through to the next passageway before stopping to listen.

The quiet is eerie after the commotion from only minutes ago. The guards must be above stairs or out in the grounds searching for her and she hopes Vincent has enough of a head start on them. With a shake of her head she clears her mind. She can't think of that now.

_Be fluid. Use your training._

She's done this before. The incursion when her goal was to get to the box and take out Anslo while doing so. It never happened and he was taken to be tortured while she was helpless to intervene. Well, not today.

Closing her eyes, she focuses all her attention until...there it is. The faint murmuring of voices down a hall to her right. Slipping off her shoes, she begins her silent approach until she is able to make out the words.

_Try not to take it personally. Business is business._

Almost to the door of the room with its light streaming out into the darkened hallway but she ducks out of sight of a passing guard, holding her breath until he moves away before taking the final steps. She exhales slowly.

_In fact, Raymond, I've always been quite fond of you._

_Raymond_ and she stifles the involuntary gasp. A glance inside the room and she takes in everything at once. He is on his knees facing away from her with a gun to his head and everything slows.

_Can't tell you what a comfort that is to me._

Her eyes travel from the gun to the hand holding it and on up his arm until she focuses on the man's head. There isn't the slightest tremble in her grip as she aims.

_Lizzy._

She hears the whisper but her eyes never waver as she pulls the trigger. Only as the man topples does she wonder if Red had sensed her approach but the shock on his face as he turns is her answer.

_Lizzy._

Again as the realization of what has happened sinks in, but there is no time. They are still in danger and taking the weapon that only moments ago would have killed him, Red leads them back out into the passage.

It is hard to keep up until finally she must stop him. "Red."

He doesn't seem to hear her or slow down.

"Raymond!"

A loud whisper is all she dares but it is enough that he finally stops to looks back, out of breath and very much out of sorts. She knows just how he feels.

"We need to hurry."

"I know, but I need my shoes."

"Your…" he trails off looking confused until she raises the hem of the gown to reveal her bare feet.

"My shoes. Besides, my feet are freezing if you want the truth."

He seems to deflate a little as the adrenaline eases up and they stand for a moment or two watching each other as their breathing slows to normal.

"You lead and I'll follow then."

He'd follow her anywhere.

* * *

There is too much confusion for further conversation. The sirens are audible shortly after he puts a round in King's chest, but with the image of the boy being auctioned off, Liz can find no judgement in the act. The FBI storm the compound and it is chaos.

She has him taken to a private sitting room and later sends an agent in with his clothes. There is no time to go to him unfortunately and she somehow thinks he needs this time alone. At last, after checking on the boy and giving a statement to Samar and Ressler, she has had enough. They will deal with the rest on their own and she borrows a phone to call Dembe to arrange a place to meet.

It is not until she climbs into the back of the SUV that they find themselves alone again.

_You can never do that again...promise me._

Not at all what she was expecting and the irritation returns immediately. Need she remind him of the lives that were saved and will be saved by the information contained in the auction log?

_I'm not talking about that._

_You. You're talking about you._

Now she understands. His rush from the room when he could not look at her. Placing Yaabari's gun in her hand as if he could no longer bear to hold it. The desperation she sees in his eyes as he asks for the promise. She is powerless to control the words that follow.

_Wow. You are so damaged. You can't accept help from anyone. Has anyone ever helped you? Is that why you are the way you are? Because you don't feel deserving of it?_

She can almost see the barrier that has formed between them again. The one that never really left.

_Is that why you can't be vulnerable for a second? I risked my life for you because I care about you. Deal with that._

She can't deny the truth of her words even to herself. The emotion behind them is too deep to simply be a result of what they experienced tonight. It was only brought to the surface by how close she came to losing him and she refuses to let him toss that back to her as if she shouldn't have tried to save him. He's got another thing coming and furthermore….

_When someone does something nice, you're supposed to say "thank you."_

_Thank you._

_You're welcome_

_But never do it again._

God, she really would like to strangle him at times, but as she stares out the window, the annoyance begins to fade. Their emotions are indeed just under the surface and both are shaken, him most of all. She has done the same, pushed at him when he came too close. When she felt herself toppling and only wanted to collapse within herself.

The tears won't stop and he watches them track down her cheeks. Each one feels like a blow. What a mess he made of things but the image of what could have happened turns his thoughts into turmoil. He cannot shake off the helplessness of this entire ordeal and now he sits in silence as her tears fall and she refuses to look at him.

"Please don't," he murmurs, when he can take it no more. He had expected her anger but this devastation overwhelms him.

"I heard you."

A whisper but still she won't turn back.

"In the room. I heard you say my name," she continues when he doesn't speak.

Finally, she meets his eyes and her anguish rips into every last ounce of control he has left.

"Don't diminish that by acting as if I shouldn't care for you, too."

"Lizzy—"

He is cut off by the agent climbing into the driver's seat. She turns toward the window again to get her emotions under control and they are left to sit in silence. With a glance in her direction once or twice he can tell the tears have stopped and she appears lost in thought. Much like himself. He is barely aware of the drive back to the city or how much time has passed before Lizzy leans forward to tell the agent to pull over.

The taillights of his Mercedes are visible in the distance but otherwise he doesn't recognize this quiet street. She is already opening the door when they come to a stop and he exits on his side to meet her on the sidewalk.

"Come on. In lieu of seeing you home I can at least walk you to your car."

A chuckle at his words repeated from the night of the embassy heist. When he saved her life except now their roles are reversed. They walk the distance between the two cars until she stops in the middle, halfway between his world and hers. He waits for her to speak, relieved to see the sorrow no longer marring her features.

"It'll be dawn soon," she remarks after a minute, when she notices the faint pink in the sky off to the east.

"Yes. One that I will be very glad to see, Elizabeth, and I thank you for that." As he tries again. Attempts to put right his words from earlier.

His sincerity draws her gaze back to his. "You're welcome."

"I'm sorry I hurt you, I only…"

He doesn't seem able to find the right words.

"I understand. I'm sorry I hurt you as well," and continues when she sees the confused shake of his head. "I know why you no longer touch me. The reason for it."

And the memory of that moment at the bottom of the pool comes to both their minds. How her  _Don't!_ when he touched her arm echoed off the walls and how he still hears it everyday. His surprise is evident, that she has noticed or would acknowledge it.

"It doesn't have to continue. I…"

"What?" he prods, fearing something will intrude before he learns the answer.

"I don't want it to continue," she says, exhaling as the confession tumbles out. "And it isn't about what we deserve so you'll just have to deal with that too."

His soft laugh brings a smile to her face. "But perhaps not when Dembe is waiting for you or that agent over there is wondering what's taking so long."

"Another time then, Lizzy."

 _My god_ , she thinks at the timbre of his voice and the flutter in her belly is immediate. She is most definitely in trouble but standing here as the stillness settles around them, she doesn't mind in the least. It seems worth it somehow. He's worth it.

"Goodnight, Raymond," but before she can walk away he interjects.

"It's good morning now."

"Yes, so it seems. Good morning."

If it wasn't for the agent behind them….but there he sits and it is time to go. With a parting smile he'll remember all his life, she turns and he watches as she enters the vehicle that quickly passes him, driving out of sight. He follows in the same direction toward his car where Dembe is waiting and glances more than once to the sky in the east. Waiting for the sun. Ready for the light.


	23. Regret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline 2.15 - 2.16
> 
> I have to say these 2b Tom retcon episodes are very difficult to watch. Liz’s character goes completely off the rails from her lack of remorse to shifting the blame for the murder Tom committed onto herself all the while excusing his behavior. She becomes unrecognizable at times but then I look at who wrote these two episodes and I'm not surprised. Sad but definitely not surprised. 
> 
> I've always planned a canon divergence in 2b but let's call this a warm up to the main event. Instead of throwing Liz off a cliff, she's going to stay a bit truer to herself. That includes maintaining some clarity where Tom and the Harbormaster murder is concerned. And while I think the 2a angst was understandable, it has definitely grown old by now and we’ll be moving on from that. Not that I haven't already been ignoring most of it.

_All my life_  
_I've never known where you've been_  
_There were holes in you  
_ _The kind I could not mend_

* * *

She somehow knew it was coming. Has been waiting for it, in fact, and when Revin Wright calls her into Cooper's office to inform her of the grand jury subpoena she barely registers surprise. What happened on the boat has found her again, not that it has given her a moment's peace. It is here to drag her back under and this time she will take Cooper with her. They will have to testify under oath and the lies it will take to protect the task force are difficult to contemplate.

There is little thought of what that will mean for her, but Cooper cannot, he should not be put in that position. Not for her and especially not for Tom. If she can manage to set up the trust for Ames' daughter then she will take whatever comes. If she can only accomplish this one thing, she will go to Detective Wilcox and be done with it.

Walking from the Post Office to clear her thoughts, she slips into a coffee shop a few blocks away and watches the passersby for awhile. Something she finds herself doing frequently these days. Wondering about them as they go about their normal lives. Well,  _normal_  compared with what she faces on a daily basis and it is difficult not to envy the mundaneness of their routine.

Taking out her phone she sends an email to her lawyer for a status on the account for the daughter. It brings her mind to the apartment and her throat tightens around the sudden emotion threatening to break free. This gift to her with a view far into the distance and all the possibilities that would bring. In the end, she could not live there and has nothing of value to give, just the surety that her education will be paid for. The one positive outcome in this whole situation. Pass the possibilities to the girl where it might actually do some good.

With the image of the apartment still in her thoughts, she dials  _Nick's Pizza._

"Hello," he answers in that funny way of his that sounds very much like  _yellow_ and it makes her smile immediately. Probably the last smile for a long time to come.

"Lizzy, are you there?" When she doesn't answer.

"Yes, I'm…"

Her voice sounds strange even to her and she falters not sure where to begin.

"Tell me," he implores quietly, already sensing something has happened.

She tells him. The subpoena, Cooper's words to her, everything except how sickened she feels inside. She doesn't need to, he can hear it in the heaviness of her words as she forces them out one by one.

"Lizzy, I was already aware of the subpoena and I want you to listen to me."

"But how do you—"

"That doesn't matter now. You will be compelled into the judge's chambers to give an account on record. Revin Wright will block any attempt at testimony in open court."

"I'll still be under oath."

"Yes, but if you want the task force to continue, there are things you won't be able to disclose. Remember that. There is still good work for you to do. This murder is not your crime, don't ever forget that."

It may not be her crime but it suffocates her and now she has no choice but to answer questions about those horrors and evade the truth while doing so.

"Trust me, Lizzy. There are things already in motion."

She can't even imagine what those  _things_  are but she does trust him. At least his intentions, although not always his methods and it prompts the question, "What are you up to, Red?"

"I'm going to have the task force kidnap the Malaysian Deputy Minister to the United Nations who is in fact an operative for the Sinaloa Cartel. He will lead us to The Major who trains all manner of undercover agents, thugs and baddies. He in turn will lead me to Tom."

It takes a minute for her to process what he has said but when she does, "You cannot be serious."

"Never more in my life. Now you have a court date and I have one with Harold and Donald. Wonder which of us deserves the most sympathy here."

"Red—"

"Lizzy," he interrupts as his tone grows more serious. "Focus only on your testimony. You can trust me with the rest."

How many times has he said that to her? It is the first time she thinks of now, when he took her hand under the gazebo as everything she knew about her husband became a lie. Here they are again dealing with the aftermath of his destruction and she wonders when they will ever reach the end of it.

* * *

"You need to tell her, Raymond."

"Tell her what," he asks the question he already has the answer to.

"About Tom. You should have told her some time ago"

"I don't know how to do that, Dembe," he murmurs, finally acknowledging this weakness.

He can't imagine it.

This is what he does, though. Visualizes all possible variables in order to prepare a countermove, but he simply cannot fathom saying it to her when he sees only one result. Words always come so easily to him with his ability to arrange them in just the way that invariably has him winning the argument. Something that drove his parents to distraction, but it has served him well and saved his life on multiple occasions. In this case, words fail him completely.

Four words he finds impossible to speak. _I hired Tom Keen_  and the hatred that would replace the….indefinable something he catches in her eyes at times. A crushing blow and he deserves nothing less.

Because he is ultimately responsible, it will fall to him to infiltrate the group of neo-nazis in order to find the imposter and be joined by Ressler of all people. Not for the first time, he wonders when it all will end. Certainly not anytime soon as Lizzy steps off the elevator just then and pulls him into an interrogation room with fire spitting in her eyes that can't quite disguise the sorrow underneath.

_What are you doing?_

_Whatever it takes to keep you safe._

She doesn't want to hear about Tom and the plan to bring him back when all she can think about are the lies she has told. How easily they seem to come to her now as she crosses one line after another. How simple it would be to admit it all and let the court do what it must but every time he pulls her back.

"This journey we're on isn't over just yet. You may have given up on us but I haven't."

"How did I let it get this far?" she whispers as the remorse washes over her.

"You couldn't have known what he would do. You will have to live with it, yes, but he committed the act without help from you. Do not sacrifice yourself for this crime that you do not own, Lizzy."

He watches her from where he is leaning against the table. Arms crossed and backed into a corner, mustering every ounce of self preservation she has. A sigh follows knowing he can't go to her and take her in his arms. Not like this when she is holding on so tightly fearing she will shatter again. Some instinct keeps him in place until she finally takes a few breaths and is able to respond.

"I don't see him coming back."

"He may find that his past choices have left him with very few options."

"Maybe I should just—"

"No," he interjects with steel coming into his voice. "You're not going to prison while that...while Tom walks free. No."

She slumps back against the wall not having the energy to argue.

His features soften seeing her resignation and he doesn't wish to add to what is bearing down on her. Adjusting his fedora, he stands preparing to leave her. "Well, it seems Ressler and I have a date waiting in Dresden so I'll say goodbye. For now."

When he reaches the door he looks back where she has yet to move, but seeing him watching her, she seems to come to herself. God, she hates the thought of him having to find Tom in whatever cesspool he's crawled into.

"Be safe, Red."

"Aren't I always?" but it is said with a smile and he turns just as she's rolling her eyes at him.

* * *

There is nothing Red would like better than to put a bullet into the imposter and take out the rest of these racists he's seen fit to surround himself with. All in all he'd consider it a gift to humanity but unfortunately that is not an option.

Tom must return to face his crime, otherwise Elizabeth will undoubtedly face the murder charge herself. He also reminds himself of the decision that he made when she became aware of her husband's betrayal. That she would be the one to decide what became of him. That still holds true and deep down he believes this is the only way she will ever regain a sense of control in her life. If Tom Keen dies it will be by the hand of another and not his own, no matter how much satisfaction it would bring.

The plan to expose the traitor has worked leaving Tom on the run again and Red is gambling that with no viable option, he'll run back to D.C. The jet has barely coasted to a stop before his contacts have informed him of Tom's arrival. Tom who is now being hunted by those he betrayed is also gambling he can work some deal with the feds by returning. The FBI is intent on protecting the task force and that benefit could also fall to him. Red laughs at how predictable his actions are, but in this case it will work to their advantage.

It comes sooner than expected. The next morning before the judge has barely resumed the proceedings, the imposter arrives at the court. Red knew before Liz but as she was already inside there was no way to get word to her. Hell, he knew before Tom himself. This betrayer will spend all of his days running and at the dismissal of the case, Red will let whatever justice there is left in the world take care of the rest. He is finished with it.

Except the four words that still plague him. He has no idea how to proceed but first he simply wants to hear her voice now that it is over.

"How are you?" he asks immediately when she answers.

She's numb. The only possible way to describe this aftershock. In fact she hasn't even driven away from the courthouse. Has been sitting in her car staring at the people streaming from the building, leaving their jobs and returning home to the families that wait for them. She would weep if there were any tears left to shed.

"Lizzy."

Not a question, just her name. An attempt to bring her back from whatever dark place she has slipped into.

"Cooper perjured himself for me, did you know that? And collapsed from a seizure after telling me he no longer recognizes me. He's dying and still he comes to the task force to do this job and one of his last acts will be breaking his oath—"

"Lizzy, don't—"

"And the detective," she continues without stopping, as if she's going down a checklist in her mind. "He pointed his finger at me and told me I'd have to live with it. As if I could ever forget …"

She trails off as her words dip to a whisper and the seconds tick away.

"As if I will ever forget the wife and daughter sitting in the corridor. Is there no measure of pain Tom is unwilling to inflict? I never should have saved…."

She stops again and doesn't continue, but he already knows what she would have said. Unfortunately the decision was made and the repercussions simply are what they are. As he well knows having lived with many such decisions that later filled him with bitter regret. It doesn't escape his notice, though, that she placed the blame on Tom and not solely on herself. The damage a person can do to oneself can be far greater than what is brought by others. She has suffered enough.

"You have survived it and that is what matters now. The rest will come."

Familiar words and she suddenly feels a bit warmer even though her breath comes out in a puff of white in the frigid car.

"Thank you, Raymond. I can't deny I'm happy the investigation is finally closed even though it leaves serious doubt about our judicial system."

"Justice can be an elusive creature. There was never going to be a perfect outcome, only one that didn't lead to further destruction. Sometimes that's the best we can hope for. And you're welcome."

He disconnects and wonders what is the best he can hope for. That she won't despise him when she learns the truth. He looks for other outcomes, waits for another scenario to come to mind. Still, there is nothing else.

* * *

A day goes by. Then two. On the third he has had enough. Can no longer stand the words playing over in his mind.

_I hired Tom Keen._

_You need to tell her, Raymond._

_I hired Tom Keen._

_You need to tell her, Raymond._

The time has come no matter the outcome. She is not being followed even with the growing threat from The Cabal but he is generally able to find her if need be. He does so today and arrives at the university campus somewhat confused until he makes the connection. Now he understands the sale of the apartment. When he sits as she is finishing a call regarding a scholarship, he receives the confirmation.

_Eugene Ames was sixty-seven years old. The only reason he was still working was to get his daughter through college._

Yes, he knows all the reasons, noble though they are. He also understands how difficult the path may become. Why the distance is important, the letting go. Why it was Mr. Kaplan that was the contact point with Sam and not himself.

_Be careful, Lizzy. Because the truth of it is, once you start down this road there is no logical place to stop. You can see to her education, health insurance, housing._

She glances toward the girl she would give anything to protect.

_Pull strings, call in favors to discreetly smooth the path. And for the first few years it may work. You'll draw some measure of virtue from being her invisible benefactor._

This girl with such a painful road in front of her.

_But it won't last. It's all a fraud. That it's really not about her at all. That it's all about you and you're just going through the motions to salve your own guilt. All the money, all the time and effort, all the favors in the world cannot possibly equal what you took away from her. Everything else is just a nice gesture._

He has experienced this pain pressing in on her. It is there in every turn of his expression. She has no idea the part he played in the fire and may never recover the secrets that lie buried in her ruined memory. She's only left with the certainty it tortures him to this day. That he has never escaped it in all the years of running. The reason he simply wishes to smooth the path at times.

_You saved a man you hate to save me._

He has risen to leave knowing he cannot speak the words he came here to say. Not today with so much remorse already surrounding them. Can't seem to say anything at all as he looks at her tears wondering how many have fallen since all of this began. The answer would rip him in two and he walks away, hoping against hope he will find the strength to do what must be done.

She is not far behind him. Would have followed and tried to catch up to him but his emotions were too raw. The difficulty he had in speaking, the moisture in his eyes did not escape her notice and she will let him outpace her today.

Looking back, she takes one last look at the girl. She will not come here again. The lawyer will act as intermediary for the scholarship and the rest is up to her. Liz turns and walks away, leaving her with all the possibilities ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the record show that while Tom was making plans to buy a boat, Liz sold the apartment to help the daughter of his victim. But sure...redemption.


	24. Closure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline 2.17 - 2.18
> 
> Never say never right? I swore an oath when I began writing that I would never do a Tom and Liz scene but here I am breaking it. All for a good cause though. This seems a perfect time to depart from canon in two ways. I'll talk about the first here and the second at the end. So this fic has never been about rewriting TBL but just a parallel to it as the ship is expanded upon. However, the Tom retcon is so damaging to Liz that it’s intolerable at this point in 2b and it definitely calls for a rewrite. 
> 
> As a review 2.18 involved Tom breaking into her hotel room and Liz protecting him, Liz asking him to help her with a case and unbelievably stealing his passports back from FBI lockup and basically running to his side whenever he calls. Lmao are you joking? Spoiler alert, we are not having any of that. Basically it's a do over although I have included a good amount of canon dialogue. One retcon deserves another right? I think some things were left unsaid between Liz and Tom when he escaped justice. It's time they were said.
> 
> Been saving these s1 lyrics for just this chapter….

_Oh don't you know_  
_That you're going to reap what you sow…._  
_I'm sorry  
_ _But I'm beginning to hate your face_

* * *

"Liz please, I'm in danger. I need the passports."

"I can't. I just can't."

"Liz, please!"

Why would she expect anything different as she moves away and switches on a light, cursing herself for letting her guard down. How stupid to think Tom would simply walk away or that if he did seek her out it would be for any other reason than him needing something from her. That he would break into her motel room without thought of her feelings is so typical she could almost laugh.

Except there is nothing humorous about this invasion into what is her home, temporary though it is. No different than his infiltration into her life. She can't listen to what he is saying, his words barely register and she thinks of nothing but wanting him as far from her as possible.

 _You want me gone, do this and you'll never see me again._ Of course, just walk into the FBI evidence locker and steal the passports back. For god's sake.

"You need to leave. Go now."

She opens the door to Red and Dembe on the other side and suddenly guns are drawn and everything is out of control with the question racing through her mind  _How did I get here?_  Always the same with unknown answers that are frightening in their scope. There is the sudden urge to exclaim that no one is getting shot on what is, in fact, the remains of her birthday, thank you very much, and she feels the hysterical laughter returning at the thought of it.

_Get out._

Red repeats her command and she suddenly wonders if she should switch hotels tonight or tomorrow? And what is the point exactly as everyone seems perfectly capable of tracking her down. Tom leaves as directed and Red moves into the room to take his place and the symbolism of that is not lost on her. Neither is his anger. God, she is so tired.

"Perhaps I haven't made myself clear,” he says, barely disguising his anger.

Well, so be it. Apparently her birthday is going to end with fireworks after all.

"I came home and Tom was here."

"He's back in your life."

"He is not in my life," as her voice rises to meet his own.

"I understand what it's like to be drawn to something that is unhealthy, to a part of yourself that you are afraid of."

He comes toward her, finally stopping when he is quite close. Much too close for her to think clearly but she refuses to let him take control.

"Perhaps I haven't made  _myself_  clear," and she walks forward until he is forced to take a step back. "He is not in my life. Regardless, I will deal with Tom as I see fit."

The fight seems to leave him as suddenly as it came. Because it really isn't about anger. It's about the pain in his eyes and again the questions come to her mind. So many she barely knows how to ask much less find the meaning to.

"Lizzy, I only want you to remember what your life really was with him and imagine all that it could be without him."

"I don't have to imagine."

"Good, because I have a case." He moves to the chair, but she remains planted in the middle of the room looking down at him.

"I don't  _have_  to imagine it because I  _want_  to imagine it," she says, ignoring his diversion about a case.

Not only does she want to think of the future but already has been with increasing frequency. Ever since the evening she visited him when he was sick and stayed until he fell asleep. When she acknowledged the possibility of something quite different and much more intimate. And scary as hell in all honesty and it has knocked her entirely off balance. There simply isn't any energy left to argue with him.

"Why did you really come here, Red?" Finally she relaxes and moves to sit on the end of the bed facing him.

"I told you, I have a case."

They watch each other and when it becomes obvious she isn't buying that answer, he continues. "I actually do have our next blacklister, which was not the reason for my visit, I will grant you."

More silence. If she has to sit here all night then so be it. Her gaze doesn't waver and she takes in everything. His nervous habits she is more than familiar with. The shifting of his weight and the fedora spinning non-stop in his hands. She resists the urge to take it from him if only to spare the brim but she refuses to move.

"I came to see how you are," he says quietly. "You seemed a little down this morning and...I suppose you've had better birthdays."

"I have had many better birthdays, but compared to where I was last year I can't complain."

A reference to her life with Tom. Her words and her smile that follows are a reinforcement that she has no wish to return to it. Surprisingly he seems to need the affirmation and her anger fades away with the realization.

"I sincerely hope next year finds you exactly where you want to be, Lizzy."

"Thank you."

He doesn't appear to know where else to take the conversation after all that has transpired and rises suddenly to move to the door.

"I suppose I should be going—"

"Don't you want to tell me about the case?" she asks, following him to the door.

When he turns, it is to find her close behind him, too close and she smiles again. Turnabout is fair play after all. A glance at his chest and she sees the quickened pace of his breathing and looks back up to the muscle jumping in his jaw. More nerves and she can't help but wonder what it is he is thinking.

"It'll keep until the morning."

"Raymond, you don't have to—"

"I really should go."

_….leave right away._

Liz leaves the words unspoken. Perhaps it's all a bit too much and she can hardly disagree. There is an overwhelming desire to close the distance and guessing by the look in his eye he is thinking the same. At least she believes so. And maybe that is the reason he should go since what she is imagining would complicate the hell out of her life and isn't she looking for the exact opposite? Not looking at all as a matter of fact, but whatever this is seems to have found her instead. It appears to have found both of them judging by his need to escape the confines of her rather small hotel room and get his bearings.

He exits and she moves into the doorway to watch him leave but he turns after only a few steps.

"Happy Birthday again, Elizabeth. I meant what I said. Just imagine where you'll be this time next year."

That smile he smiles just for her is there for a moment and he is gone. Somehow he takes with him all the melancholy that has followed her throughout the day. The fear of finding Tom in her room. The anger that his presence caused between her and Red. All of it fades into the darkness as she closes and bolts the door, thinking only of where next year will find them.

She walks a few paces across the room, stops suddenly aware it was most definitely a  _them_ that came to mind as opposed to just her. With a smile and a small shrug of her shoulders that no one sees, she finally gets ready to sleep.

* * *

She discovers the burner phone the next morning. Hidden under a stack of papers and no doubt left there by Tom as a way for her to contact him. Resisting the urge to hurl it against the wall, she turns it off and places it in her bag. One thing is for sure, she will not act rashly. That is what brought her to the boat that ended in an innocent man's death. No, this time she will think through every action and reaction with deadly calm.

There is no mention of the burner when she calls Red on the way to the Post Office. He is too close to this, as is she, so for the time being she will wait. The information on Vanessa Cruz is received and soon she finds herself distracted by the investigation. Until she becomes distracted by the events of the previous evening and what to do about it before someone in the task force breaks into her wandering thoughts and on it goes. The back and forth seems endless.

Then something catches her attention. A shelf corporation and what was the name of it? A dummy corp sold by criminals to other criminals and used to launder money or pass off transactions as legitimate. Finally a lead and if they are able to locate the seller then perhaps they can track down the blacklister. But why does this bother her? It's there at the edge of her mind and then….

Springing up from her chair, she is half-way across the room when Samar calls out to her.

"I need to see Cooper."

Her steps never slow until she reaches his door. To do what never comes naturally for her, but this time she is going to learn from the worst mistake of her life as the boat flashes through her mind again as it probably always will. For once she's going to lay out all the facts and ask for advice.

She tells Director Cooper in what feels like one long sentence, one breath, and when all of it is said she inhales deeply pulling the air into her lungs as if she's been underwater for too long. He is quiet for a minute or two before asking a few questions, going through the events in his mind. Where is the burner phone? Why the passports? Who is hunting him? She answers with what information she has and at last he rises and goes to the landing and calls down to the workroom. He carries the conversation after Aram, Samar and Ressler file into the room and the information is relayed again.

At last, the decision is made, not an easy one with the knowledge of what has taken place. Liz's life in ruins, Cooper's injuries, Meera's death, but they arrive at it with the knowledge it is the best they can do, at least for now. A way forward. Sometimes it really is that simple.

When Liz retrieves the burner from her bag and returns to Cooper's office to make the call, it is Aram that turns it on and gives her an encouraging pat on the arm. With a glance around the room, they all nod as she dials the only number programmed into the phone.

She has no plan to inform Red of what has been decided or the call she has made, at least not yet. It is not a conversation to have over the phone and she will wait for the conclusion of the case, but she gives into the need to hear his voice nonetheless. Slipping into a corner in the few minutes she has to spare before meeting with Tom, she calls him and knows immediately something is wrong.

* * *

_Agent Keen, I'm loathe to play tit for tat, but unfortunately, due to present circumstances, I must insist on the fulcrum. I'm afraid it's become an immediate matter of life and death._

_Agent Keen._ God, he hates the formality of it and finds it impossible to keep the edge from his voice. She won't understand the reason for it just as she cannot know the reason for his hasty departure last night. It wasn't Tom, not really. He simply reacted to seeing the traitor in her room but he is also able to discern the disgust in her features when she speaks of him.

_I know how much it means to you._

He has never hated himself more hearing her words. It isn't simply what the Fulcrum means to him but what  _she_  means to him. The Director is calling for a vote and without Alan Fitch and the deal they struck as protection, they will come for him. But it is the potential collateral damage that causes him to speak to her so forcefully. Everyone is at risk. The task force, Dembe, Mr. Kaplan and Lizzy.

Always Lizzy. He will not be able to protect her, may not be able to protect himself without the blackmail file. It is his only remaining leverage.

It's as if she reads his thoughts.

"Red, I can't simply hand over possibly incriminating information regarding the government and its officials. Talk to me. Tell me what this is really about."

They'd have to wade through thirty years of treachery and he wouldn't know where to begin. He could have told her everything last night, should have told her, but every single time he comes close to it the words die in his throat. How can he say it with that look in her eyes that she no longer disguises and he can't ignore? The guilt is overpowering and so he ran as he is so adept at doing.

It is too hard to think, to see objectively what the next move should be. No time as the minutes tick down to the vote that will seal his fate. He makes one final plea.

"I need the Fulcrum. Think about it, Lizzy."

He will tell her after the vote and will start with the hiring of Tom Keen. He must.

* * *

For the length and seriousness of the conversation that took place in Cooper's office, it all occurs simply and quickly. The phone call to Tom, a bargain struck. Information on the seller of shelf corporations for a passport. She pushes the anger to the side and focuses on the case and the connection she made in the first place that brought all this about. The dummy account that she traced from Tom straight back to Berlin came from the same source as one used by their current blacklister. He couldn't even manage to appear embarrassed when she mentioned it in the car on the way to his contact.

_Is Reddington still upset about last night?_

_My relationship with Reddington is not up for discussion. Just drive._

Well, she never thought this would be anything other than intolerable. They had said no more about anything unrelated to the contact until afterward on the drive back to her car when he couldn't seem to let it go.

"You know I'm no worse than your buddy, Reddington."

"You are worse and the fact you can't see that—"

"You don't understand even after all this time. Reddington is dangerous and he's playing you."

She doesn't understand? Has no concept of being  _played_ as he calls it or what true danger really is? The profiler in her is fascinated at his ability to disassociate and the woman that unknowingly married him is appalled.

"Not that you are owed an explanation, but he at least has a moral code and it does not include lying to me."

A few more miles to her car, that is all and she visualized the map in her head. The two or three turns that remained until she could leave.

"You know what I'm going to do?" he asked unexpectedly. "I'm going to buy a boat, a diving boat. Open a charter business in Micronesia…"

She couldn't listen anymore and finally they turned onto the side street where her car was parked. Without a glance his way she had interrupted him with  _Tomorrow. Noon. Here will do._

And now she waits with the passport and the wish of finally putting an end to the worst part of her life imaginable. She tries not to think about this last meeting with Tom, but the one after that. Red is waiting or soon will be.

It wasn't Tom that had entered her thoughts all of yesterday and through most of the night. It was Red and the Fulcrum and all the secrets that lie between them. For months she has held onto the small device not knowing what she should do with it but his words yesterday won't let her go.

_It's become an immediate matter of life and death._

She can only imagine it relates to the Cabal even though they have not spoken of it since his rescue from the black site prison.  _Life and death._ And what had she said to Tom? Red doesn't lie to her and she believes it still to this day. Taking the Fulcrum from the bunny, she placed it in a case and made the call.

"I'll be expecting those answers, Red. You're not off the hook even though I'm giving it to you."

"I know that. Thank you."

Nothing more except the location and time where she will hand over what it appears so many are willing to kill for. She hopes to god she's doing the right thing. Not only with the Fulcrum but also with Tom who arrives just as the thought crosses her mind.

Her hand is already outstretched with the passport as he approaches, wanting to conclude this business as quickly as possible.

"Only one?" he asks as he takes it from her.

"Yes, one passport. That should be all you need for your new life in...where was it? Micronesia?"

He's annoyed. She knows him well enough to remember that look when he doesn't get his way.

"Now this is how—"

"Can I ask you something?" he interrupts walking a step or two toward her.

Of course he wouldn't make the exchange easy and he continues immediately. "Do you think it's possible for someone like me to start over, become something else?"

"Isn't that what you do for a living?"

"Yes, but you know what I mean."

"Can you be honest? You'd have to be honest."

He's looking at her as he used to when they were married and he cannot possibly think...

"You made me feel like for a moment that I had a life, that somebody cared."

She might as well be back in their old brownstone as that feeling washes over her when he dropped to his knees to ask her to renew their vows. When she knew the truth of what he was as his suspicions grew and still he asked it of her. It nauseates her to this day.

"It wasn't real. You do know that, don't you? It was all a lie. I don't even know your name," and before he can speak she holds up her hand. "Stop. I don't want to know what it is. You aren't real, you never were."

"This is me being honest," he says quietly. "It's going to be a nice boat."

 _No wonder,_  she thinks. No wonder she never saw it. He manipulates without a second thought and it is truly pathological. She silently makes a vow to give the profiler in her a break for not seeing through the mask.

"Tom, if your first thought is to buy a boat and not make amends to the family you destroyed and the girl you left without a father, then it isn't me you need to ask if you are capable of change."

And the annoyance she spotted earlier shifts to anger. Yes, she knows it well, now that her eyes are finally open.

"So this is how it will work," she continues her earlier statement. "You will take this passport and leave. Immediately. By boat, by plane, however you choose. You will not return. The passport will be tracked regularly and will be flagged should you attempt to reenter the country or if it shows up in a law enforcement database worldwide."

"Liz, I can't—"

"You will, actually. Do you realize there was serious discussion about simply taking you out today? Being done with this whole sordid mess? Don't ever think that can't happen or that you won't be apprehended and dropped in a black site. And please don't kid yourself that I'm the one who took the passport for you. That would be my boss Assistant Director Harold Cooper. There are more than one of us to make sure you don't inflict further damage. You want a new life, there it is. It seems none of us have gotten what we deserve in all this."

She turns and walks toward her car and hears him say over her shoulder, "It was Reddington. He's the one who hired me."

There is the momentary relief that her back is turned but really it wouldn't have made much difference. It happens in an instant. All the bits of information scattered around, the ones she had sifted through and tried to sort into an answer that made sense, but so often she was too close to see it clearly. Too much turmoil to solve the puzzle. Berlin, Meera, the boat. But now with it so far behind her, it finally all fits together.

The answer that was there all along and just at the periphery of her mind. Always out of focus and just out of reach.

Everything makes sense now. His surrender. The hatred for Tom. Ezra hired to protect her after Meera was killed. The drug-induced trip to the desert coinciding with her wedding. The guilt.

That's it, really. The guilt and regret that never leave him, that drove him from her room a few nights ago. It has never been clearer. Tom was hired by Red when the threat from Berlin was growing just the same as Ezra. She felt it deep down all those months ago but couldn't make sense of the sequence of events.

When she turns, she manages a small smile and doesn't miss the one that disappears from his face.

"Are you under the assumption I don't know that?"

He's watching her, attempting to decipher her expression, but he can't hide his shock at her calm response.

"You're leaving out the best part. How you turned and began working for Berlin. That's how you really entered my life. That's how he received our names so we could be picked off one by one."

She keeps the question out of her voice but receives the answer in his expression. Taking a step forward, she continues for the final time. "Meera died in my arms, do you know that? She has two children in case you ever gave her a thought. Are you capable of understanding that type of loss?"

She takes a breath and her voice drops, losing all emotion, matching the lifelessness that has entered his features. "You know, it's a terrible thing to regret not killing someone."

The passport he is passing from hand to hand stops at her words and she swears the entire city has gone silent.

"To wish to return to a specific day and time only to put a bullet in someone's head. I'd like to think I'm really not that type of person but I find I can live with it all the same. You should know I will never make that mistake twice."

As her car turns the corner she glances in the mirror one last time to see him, not looking in her direction, but down at the passport in his hand. The only thing he wanted.

* * *

In one minute despair and the next there is hope.

So much of his life comes down to these moments. The Director has won the vote and he is now in open war with the Cabal. Only minutes after learning of the treachery involved, he had told Dembe there was no choice but for them to leave in order to divert attention away from the task force and most importantly, Lizzy.

And minutes after that she called.

Telling him she had decided to hand over the Fulcrum and where should they meet. Just like that and he wonders could it really be as simple as a matter of his life and death?  _I care about you, deal with that_ and he looks up to her car approaching.

He can't make out her expression when she steps from the car but something inside turns cold.

"What's wrong?" He hopes more than anything it isn't what he thinks.

"I just spent the last twenty-four hours dealing with a man who is a lifelong habitual, pathological liar."

"Tom." Who else could it be but the imposter and there is the answer he has been dreading.

"Yes, Tom. This man, this liar, he told me something...confirmed what I suspected…."

She doesn't know how to finish. She doesn't need to. He waited too long to say it but he does so now before she can continue. Before he has to hear it in her voice, laced with the accusation he so rightly deserves.

"I'm the one who hired Tom Keen."

Horrible words and it makes him sick to speak them, just as this mistake sickens him every single day. The thought of what her expression would be when she heard it has haunted him for months and there it is playing out before him. The face he loves and she is already backing away.

"Can I explain?"

Barely constrained emotion as she rips the case from her bag. "Now you want to explain? After all this time and only when I had to hear it from  _him_. After what you and I have become to each…"

She stops abruptly as if only just realizing the words were spoken out loud.

"Lizzy—"

"Here. This is what you wanted. Now you have it." And she holds the case out wanting nothing more than to be free of it all.

His eyes travel to the Fulcrum, his only remaining weapon against The Cabal, then back to her eyes. A sea of pain and betrayal staring back at him. He will not take the case. It would burn him alive in that moment if he touched it.

"Lizzy, when I hired Tom—"

"It's too late. Every day you should have told me and every day you chose not to. I don't care why, I just want this to end."

He still refuses to accept it, won't look at it now in the midst of her devastation. As the pain in her voice destroys him.

She walks around him to set it on the hood of his car and a helplessness he has known only a handful of times in his life descends. He is rooted to the spot watching her walk away.

"Take it!"

"Lizzy. Lizzy."

It does no good. He has lost her and his deepest fear is realized when she enters the car to leave. Not sure he can bear to watch her go, he turns away.

The crack of the rifle rips the earth from under him and he is falling and never stops. Deeper and deeper under the surface and his breath is drowned out by the pressure. It feels like a vanishing as the light is pulled away. As it goes with her and he is left to the darkness.

"No!"

Her voice echoes to him from a great distance and he wonders how he drifted this far in so short a time.

She reaches him in seconds and there is no one left but herself and Dembe to stay by his side.

Strange the things that come to mind under duress when the bullets sail overhead and terror rains down. The adrenaline has her body locked in automatic. Protect him. Cover. Shoot. She and Dembe move in unison to block the assassin's aim and as they alternate their return of fire her mind slips. She feels them falling all the way back to the empty pool. The one that has become a line in the sand he would not cross. When she pulled away and he stopped touching her and the absence of it has coursed through her everyday since. How could she have known this would be the first contact? Her hand on his chest as they fight to keep his life from spilling out in the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say goodbye to Tom or piss off etc. Just ignore all memories of him in any future episodes or the on the run timeline. He was not there, it was a nightmare. Also, I let him live just to illustrate the point that a reasonable spinoff could have occurred that didn't destroy Liz. If I can accomplish it in one chapter I'm flummoxed why a whole writer's room couldn't in half a season. In a perfect world he'd have remained the antagonist culminating in an eventual Tom and Liz showdown. I settled for a verbal showdown since Liz has plenty of shooting in her future and it felt wrong to pile more on her. Tptb could take note of that. 
> 
> The second smaller departure from canon is the source of Liz’s anger at discovering Red hired Tom which is itself a known retcon. The more I delved into these episodes the more I thought it possible that she may have had the suspicion especially after Ezra showed up. I let Tom’s words simply be a confirmation to her and not give him the satisfaction of hurting her. I also didn't want Red and Lizzy’s relationship to take such a huge step back at this time. Therefore, Liz’s anger is really at Red’s secrecy and will be addressed later after the poor guy is patched up.


	25. Mortal Coil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline 2.19
> 
> Wanted to say a big thanks for reading and commenting!

_Take my mind_  
_And take my pain_  
_Like an empty bottle takes the rain  
_ _And heal, heal, heal_

* * *

He has no idea how he came to be in the backseat of the Mercedes as it speeds through the city streets, jostling his body about. Attempting to focus, to draw a breath, he rises slightly but the vice squeezing tighter and tighter won't allow him to sit up. He is pushed back down, not only by the weight on his chest but also her hand. Now that he recognizes it, he concentrates on the sensation of it. Just there, to the right of his heart beating out of control.

The world is a blur speeding past the windows overhead, and he strains to hear the voices muffled by the pounding in his chest.

_Cooper this is Keen. Reddington is down. I repeat he is down, Shot and critical…..Euclid and Drake._

_Lizzy, don't._

It is all he can manage as he tries to warn her of the danger.

_I'm going to lose him if I don't get him to the ER._

The Cabal will find them there. They will all be killed. She will be killed. If he can only draw enough air in his lungs to speak, but he doesn't have to. Dembe knows what to do.

_Mr. Kaplan?_

Kate is there on the other end and he relaxes back, fighting to stay conscious.

_No hospitals._

_I'm not going to let him die and it can't wait._

He can't possibly die. Not with her hands there holding him together, keeping him tethered to this world after she pulled him from the darkness. The fear is everywhere, never-ending terror they will be lost to one another if the contact is broken. His hand finds hers and keeps it in place, pressing into his chest.

_Hold on. Please, Raymond, just hold on._

The only thing left in this life that is tangible. Her hand beneath his own and it takes all his remaining strength to do as she pleads. To hold on. Until it is beyond his power as he is pulled from the car onto a gurney and the voices blend together once more. A sea of lights and faces, words that have no meaning, but where is she? He needs to find her.

And just as he looks over, she comes into focus, moving towards him as he reaches out. Her hand rests over his heart and he hopes it will beat for just a little longer.

"You need to find Leonard Caul."

"Caul?'

"Leonard Caul. Talk to Dembe. You need to find him, Lizzy."

The only thing he can do to ensure she receives the help that will be needed to unlock the Fulcrum. To assist her in the war that is still raging in case he is not able.

There is too much activity for her to remain and she steps back not wanting to impede his care. She can only take his hand and enfold it into her own, both sticky with his blood as she attempts to calm the trembling he can't control. The medical personnel fly around but where they watch one another it is perfectly still, so quiet as everything falls away. It can't last and she knows she needs to go. Loosening her grip, the contact is almost broken when suddenly he holds tighter, pulls her back to his side. One last time.

"Eliza—"

"No", she interrupts quickly, desperate to keep him from finishing. "Don't say my name like it's the last time."

He pauses a moment, searching her face and she feels the pressure of his hand increase. "You're my last everything."

And the image of him kneeling with a gun to his head won't be kept away. The bullet she stopped that night but she couldn't prevent the one that found its mark today. God, she doesn't want him to see the fear flooding through her when there is so much of it already in his eyes. How desperately he wants to live and stay with her. Why else would he go to such lengths, all this preparation to save himself should he fall? It breaks her and it takes everything within her not to crumple.

"Raymond, tell me when you wake up," she whispers, not breaking her gaze. Not looking at the blood that is everywhere, but only at his eyes. There is the slightest nod of his head and she responds in kind. This silent acknowledgement between them is what remains to hold onto.

They've run out of time as she is forced back and he closes his eyes giving into the pain. A hand on her arm guides her the rest of the way out of the surgical tent and she realizes it is Mr. Kaplan studying her with a sorrow she has never seen. Looking back, she searches for the rise and fall of his chest as the IV is placed in his arm and the tube into his throat. Her eyes fight to see between the activity for that simple movement, turning only when they begin cutting his clothes away, an attempt to leave him with whatever dignity that remains.

"Elizabeth, there is a sink in the corner."

"What?"

She glances over in confusion to Dembe standing at her side.

"For your hands," he says quietly.

They are still covered in Raymond's blood and everything blurs as she turns them palm up. Dembe reaches out to steady her when the room spins and she lets him guide her to the sink. Is grateful he is there as the swirls of red run down the drain and she fights to keep her nausea under control. Let's him guide her steps back to the tent and there they remain. Dembe, Mr. Kaplan and herself, somehow standing guard over him, watching his draped figure as the surgeon attempts to repair the damage.

* * *

The call wouldn't have been placed had she known the chain of events it would bring about. The danger from The Cabal she understands to a certain extend but that the danger could come from her own agency, she had not thought it possible. The  _protective detail_ supposedly sent by Cooper are dead at her feet thanks only to Mr. Kaplan and my god, she brought them here.

_There will be more._

Dembe's warning has her running for the surgical tent as the panic rises. He will have to be moved. They will have to….

She stops short at the puddle of blood and the surgeon lying dead from a stray bullet. Immediately her instincts kick in. What is his status? When can he be moved?

_Does anyone here have surgical training?_

_Two years. Fresno state._

_You're up, Fresno._

There is something in the nurse's eyes, some fortitude Liz can discern there and it calms her. He is in good hands. It is enough for now, for the transfer. Of course there is a backup plan. A contingency and probably half a dozen more after that. In what seems only minutes they are preparing him for the move. It is then the idea comes to her.

A phone call she never imagined she would make but he answers. Surprisingly Nik agrees and she will deal with the rest later. They need a doctor and it is the only option. Her weapon is drawn and she moves to Raymond's side and refuses to leave it as they prepare for the next step.

* * *

Another mobile surgical suite in another warehouse and more plastic sheeting she stares through trying to determine his condition. He has been under so long. The surgery seems interminable even with the move to the new location. After what seems like hours, Nik lifts the bullet from Raymond's chest and for the first time since all this began there is relief. Now, perhaps they will approach the end and he will finally wake up.

"Elizabeth."

She turns to find Dembe a few feet away and he continues after she steps closer. "In Bethesda, there is a small second story flat. In the flat, you will find a desk. The middle drawer has a false front. Inside you'll find a silver case and a key."

"This is about the Fulcrum?"

"Yes."

She glances over to Raymond as they continue the surgery and she notices Dembe's expression as he does the same. "He's going to be okay, Dembe."

"This flat, Raymond can never know you were there. I would go if I could, but I can't. I can't leave him alone."

She has no choice really. He has been with Raymond longer and to ask him to go while she stays…no, she will not do it. Her hesitation is brief but he senses it just the same. "Raymond is strong, Elizabeth. He will be waiting for you when you return."

How many times she repeats that to herself on the drive to Bethesda she will never know. A dozen? A hundred?  _He will be waiting for you._ This one hope that keeps her moving forward, concentrating on the road ahead.

It's not until she comes to an abrupt halt outside the door of the flat that she realizes she has been running since parking her car on the street below. Her only thought being to get the case and return to the warehouse as soon as possible wanting to be there when Raymond wakes. However, stepping into this secret flat she can't help but pause as she walks into the living area. It seems to have been frozen in time but what year or decade is hard to say. The art and albums mixing with recently published books stacked in odd piles here and there. The unfinished jigsaw puzzle on the table as if someone was sitting there sorting through the pieces only moments ago.

Everything about it is unexpected but somehow it fits him. A place to store his treasures. A sanctuary he may retreat to and she can imagine him there selecting a record or reading in the worn armchair. With a shake of her head she looks around, spotting the desk in the corner and begins the task of extracting the false front to locate the case hidden within.

A noise behind causes her to whip around and she is shocked to see a cat jump on the counter in the small kitchen. One surprise after another and she takes a moment to walk over and give it a pat. It is then she notices the picture. The young girl, no more than a toddler, held in the lap of a woman whose face is obscured by the sun. There are no photos of her as a child this young, but Liz recognizes her own face staring back at her all the same. She tries to make out the features of the woman but it is no use. Taking her phone from her pocket she snaps a quick picture before returning the frame and suddenly the apartment is too quiet. Much too eerie with these secrets staring back at her and she wants nothing more than to be back at the warehouse.

Grabbing the case she quickly walks to the door and opens it to a gun aimed at her chest.

* * *

It's the sound that makes it through first. The steady beep of the heart monitor and he knows he's alive even before he is able to open his eyes.

He is rising to the surface slowly, the way he does on deep dives with his respirator the only sound in the fathoms that surround him. She is not near, he knows this without looking. They would not come here. He would not bring her to this dark ocean, but rather somewhere bright and blue like the color of her eyes. He'd tell her he chose it for just that reason and she would laugh and call him sentimental. Laughter fading to a smile, the one that seems like a secret they share. He wishes more than anything to see her and say her name. Not for the final time.

Little by little the weight bearing him down lessens until all that remains is a tightness across his chest. Nothing really when compared to where he was and the air flows into his lungs quite easily. Now he is able to open his eyes at last and searches the surgical suite in confusion, not seeing her where she seemed to be standing only minutes ago. His eyes travel around the makeshift tent until he sees Dembe to his right.

_The doctor says you did well._

_Elizabeth._

His only thought, his only need. The first word instead of the last.

* * *

Leonard Caul has found her instead of the other way round only he doesn't seem all that ready to lower his weapon. Does he honestly think she is willing to take him to Red after what just happened in the street only a few hours ago. She won't be swayed and he seems to reach a decision. Placing the gun on the table as a sign of trust he sits to ask the same of her.

_If you trust him, Agent Keen, you will show it to me._

She pulls the case closer. The one Dembe sent her here to retrieve and to simply hand it over is out of the question. Red had told her to find this man, to seek his help but the uncertainty of what to do makes her hold on tighter. What if it leads to a betrayal. What if…

_If you trust him._

This is all that remains. The trust that has somehow survived between them. Without another thought she passes the case to Caul.

It took all of these scattered pieces coming together for the case to come alive and project its secrets on the wall in the small flat. The Fulcrum, a key, and a code known only to Caul. Now she knows what is important enough to die for, to kill and be killed. Names and events that have no meaning to her but so many that do. Coups, assassinations, even one of a U.S. president. Secrets that would rewrite history books and shake the foundation of the government. Yes, she understands with complete clarity why the Cabal put a sniper on that street today.

The danger Berlin posed is inconsequential to this organization and the lengths they will go to in order to silence Red and by extension the task force. And now she understands who the true enemy is. The Director of Clandestine Services. He's there in file after file, more than twenty years younger and always in the background gaining power. It takes only a few minutes for Liz to see the pattern forming, the manipulation and control weaving through time.

It is unbelievable what is stored within this strange device and yet here it sits in her lap as she and Caul drive toward the warehouse. Her mind is wandering and at first she doesn't understand what she sees on a side street a block or two from where they have hidden Red and the surgical team. A tactical unit readying for an assault.

_Keep driving._

And as she reaches for her phone to call the warning to Dembe, Caul catches a glimpse of the Cabal's operatives.

_We're compromised._

* * *

_We have a situation._

They've been found out, he can tell the moment Kate walks to his side and a second later the lights go out. She sits with arms folded and a gun in her hand with her trademark determination. His friend. He would trust her with his life and has on countless occasions but she cannot stay. Not this battle, not today.

_I'm not leaving you, Raymond._

_You need to go, find a way out. I'll be fine and if I'm not, you know what to do. But you won't be able to do it unless you leave._

There is no further argument. They have discussed this eventuality many times. What his final instructions would be and if they are to be carried out, she must find an escape route. If Elizabeth is ever to be safe someone must make it out of here alive.

* * *

Caul won't listen when she tells him to turn the car around, doesn't understand her urgency to get to the warehouse. Somehow get there first and maybe…

_We need to go back_

_There's nothing you can do. The Director never believed that Reddington had the Fulcrum. The moment Fitch died, it was only a matter of time before his bluff was called._

That's it. Finally, she has an idea and Caul is going to help her whether he wants to or not.

* * *

Red's right arm is almost useless so he will have to shoot with the left. As it happens he has trained his non-dominant hand for just this situation but there is no denying his reflexes will not be as sharp. Neither is his mind if he is honest with himself. The fog of the anesthesia still persists and he fights to stay in focus. Think. What can he use to his advantage?

The siderail and his leg will hopefully brace the gun, hold it steady enough to make the kill. Pulling the exam light overhead he directs it toward the door, anything to give him the extra seconds he will need. If they reach this room, there is no one to aid him. Kate has hopefully made it to safety with the remaining medical personnel. Somewhere out there between himself and the entrance Dembe, Baz and his other men wait for the impending battle.

He will do the same. But he thinks of her in what could be his last fight, hopes for her safety and waits as the minutes tick by.

The warehouse erupts in a battery of explosions and shots fired. There is no layout of the facility in his mind making it impossible to determine a timeframe before they reach him. He struggles with the confines of the stretcher. Pulls at the IV and wires leading to the monitors until his movements are less constrained.

The pistol is nothing compared to the assault weapons the soldiers are armed with. He takes out two, maybe three before the chamber is empty. If he can reach one of their weapons perhaps he can hold the rest off. The pain rips through his shoulder as he climbs from the bed and the dizziness is overpowering. How easy it would be to simply wait for the next Cabal operative to do what they have come to do. To finally stop fighting after all these years.

He drops to his knees before he topples and the darkness is there at the edges.  _Godammit_ as the pain turns to agony. His mind pulls forward memory after memory of her the way he so often does now and with a gasp he begins making his way across the floor.

* * *

Caul won't enter the building that houses the Director's office but it doesn't matter. She has the Fulcrum and the interface and they have a copy of the files.

Her badge and determined walk gain her access rather quickly and it is only the stony face of the man outside the Director's office that halts her progress.

"Look, I don't think you heard me," she says, raising her hand to interrupt the assistant. "Go in there and tell him his meeting is over or my next stop is the Washington Post. Tell him I have the Fulcrum."

"I don't know what—"

"You have all the information you need. Move."

Unbelievably, he moves and she lets out a breath.  _Don't think about the warehouse,_  she tells herself as she stares straight ahead, hoping against hope she has gotten here in time.

* * *

He's out of time. Out of strength. Out of ideas.

His right arm hangs limp at his side and his left struggles to pull the weapon from under the body of the operative he shot. Beads of sweat are running down his face as the urgency builds.

It does no good. There is simply no energy to pull the gun free and as he is surrounded, he sits back struggling to breathe. One of the last painful breaths he will take. It is over.

* * *

She doesn't spare the Director a glance as she marches to his desk and within a minute the projector has come to life again.

_The Fulcrum. You didn't think Reddington had it, well, here it is and it tells quite a story._

His shock is evident and probably closely mirrors what her own was when she first saw the images flashing past.

_Call it off._

_It's too late._

_Pick up the phone right now and call it off!_

* * *

Four of them and he looks up to the masked figure standing closest. How odd he won't see the face of the man that will kill the great Concierge of Crime. Not much of a conquest as he crouches not even having the ability to stand.

He won't say her name out loud, not this time. Not for these killers to hear. It is all he has left.

_Elizabeth_.

He waits for the bullet that never comes.

Unbelievably, they pull back and without a word he is alone with only her name still echoing in his mind.

* * *

"You have no idea the enemies you've just made."

He stops her progress toward the door and she turns back. She knows precisely what she has done. Marched into the office of the Director of Clandestine Services and declared war on The Cabal. Declared her alliance with Raymond and became a target to be destroyed.

"I assure you I do."

If she had to do it all again, this is the decision she would make, no matter the repercussions. He is worth it.  _They_  are worth it.

"I never saw it before," the Director says quietly. "How much you look like your mother."

Words to gauge her reaction or simply cause her pain. Perhaps a small carrot he is dangling hoping to gain some insight but she won't bite. Not today. She offers him the smallest smile not giving him the satisfaction of unnerving her. One that he reciprocates before she leaves having won the day, but with the image of the photograph from the little apartment in her mind.

With a shake of her head, she clears her thoughts. Not today.

* * *

Raymond is gone by the time she makes it back to the warehouse. It is almost destroyed and how anyone survived is astonishing, but survive he did and has already been moved to another secure site. Dembe and Baz saw to the transfer and she breathes a sigh of relief when Cooper offers the details.

It seems to take forever. The never-ending questions, her statement that goes on and on until finally Cooper realizes she can't continue. The breaking point is drawing closer and he tells her to go. The task force will handle the rest.

She walks out into the night air and places a call to Dembe's phone and he answers immediately. For the first time since this horrible day began she can't find the words and is desperately afraid she will break down right there on the sidewalk.

"Elizabeth, he is well. I'm sending an address. Meet me there and I will take you the rest of the way."

"Yes."

Nothing more and as she hangs up she remembers her car is still at the Bethesda flat having left it there earlier.

"Dammit."

Is she really going to have to steal a ride or….

He's up the block, parked at a corner. Leonard Caul and his ancient car and never has anything looked as beautiful.

When she slides into the passenger seat she can't help but say, "Leonard, I have a feeling we're going to be friends. Thanks for waiting."

"Elizabeth, I have a feeling you and Reddington are going to need all the help you can get. Where to?"

* * *

It's been hours since she has seen him. It feels like days. She left just after the bullet was removed from his chest and here he is in yet another mobile hospital in another hideaway. Mr. Kaplan never ceases to amaze.

She's not sure what she expected but it is quiet, almost peaceful as she walks toward the plastic room at the center of the building. There were guards at the entrance and she has already waved to Baz a little ways off. Dembe comes to greet them and she can't help but hug him, so grateful he wasn't hurt.

"He is resting, Elizabeth, but he will want to see you."

With an introduction to Caul, the two men move off to discuss the day's events and she is alone.

Walking the last steps, she stops and looks into the dimly lit room. He is sleeping as Dembe said and knowing what he has been through it is no wonder. She falters there, not sure if she should disturb him, knowing he needs rest but her need to be near him is stronger.

She walks in and doesn't stop until she is at his side, making sure to walk around to his left. He really must be exhausted to not hear her entrance or perhaps that has something to do with the medication dripping into his arm.

Looking around she notices a chair in the corner and really she should take a seat there but instead she sits on the edge of the hospital bed. She should definitely go and not place her hand lightly over his chest, feeling for the rise and fall, the steady rhythm of his heart. He doesn't need to see the tears that form at the realization of what occurred today.

She shouldn't move closer, sliding her hand across his bandaged chest until it rests on his opposite side. There is no thought to the transparent plastic or the medical team just outside as she leans closer. No thought to anything at all except the one thing she can't stop thinking of.

Because they could have died today and unbelievably they are alive. Because there is simply no anger left after what they have endured. She has no idea what is to come but nothing else matters as her lips brush his own. Just a whisper but they linger there as she closes her eyes to thank whatever gods may be that they have made it this far.

He stirs and she pulls back just enough to see his eyes attempting to focus on her through the medication and trauma.

"I'm sorry, but I needed to do that."

"Elizabeth."

At last and she relaxes at the sound of her name, for the first time in more hours than she can recall. His voice is a little scratchy and heavy with fatigue but it fills up all the emptiness she has carried with her all these months.

"Am I awake or dreaming?"

Or is this the drugs they've pumped into him? He has no idea.

"I'd call it mostly awake," she murmurs and sits back a little further to see his expression. He winces slightly and she continues. "I shouldn't have disturbed you."

But he reaches for her hand, already shaking his head. She is real and he never wants to let her go.

"I wanted to see you. Tried to stay awake…"

His voice grows weaker and she doesn't trust her own to speak. Not with her hand in his as his thumb moves across her skin. The little habit he has that she has longed for all these months.

"I need to explain about—"

"No, don't say his name," she says quickly. "Not tonight. We'll talk tomorrow but tonight this is all that matters."

Just the two of them and he relaxes back. She is relieved when his features soften with a smile. Soon, he is drifting off and she stays with her hand in his so as not to disturb him.

"Lizzy," he says suddenly, opening his eyes again. "Why did you kiss me?"

"You know why."

"Do I?"

She can see him fighting the effects of the medication that cloud his thoughts and replies softly, "Yes and we'll also talk about that later. Close your eyes."

He does just that and she knows it will be the last time for many hours.

"Stay close."

She smiles at these mumbled words, unguarded as sleep claims him once more. At the wish they both now share.  _Stay close._

"I'm not going anywhere."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Few things:
> 
> If you think I stole that kiss from Sleeping Beauty well all I have to say is…..I stole it from Longmire and I’d do it again. But I see your point about SB. 
> 
> Invictus shoutout. Liz loves poetry and why not I say. 
> 
> This writer supports Mr. Kaplan. Always.


	26. Not Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline: Post 2.19 the day after the shooting

_All I waited for_  
_Was a chance to make you understand_  
_And tell you these forgotten truths  
_ _You never thought were real_

* * *

The first time Red wakes is to the nurse attaching a new bag of medication to the IV in his arm. Once the rate is adjusted to her liking and with a glance at the monitor displaying his vital signs, she realizes her patient is watching her silently.

"Good morning, Mr. Reddington. Nice to see you awake."

"What time is it?" he asks and winces at the raspy voice that surely can't be his own.

"Oh, barely past six. Are you in pain? Is there anything I can do for you?"

"No, I…"

With a shake of his head, he looks past her to the distorted warehouse beyond the plastic sheeting.

"Your friend is over there and out like a light. You could probably use a little more sleep as well."

She is all business as she nods toward the opposite corner from where he has been looking and it is then Red realizes they have been whispering the entire time. Him from sheer weakness and her as a way to not disturb the other party in the room.

With a glance in the other direction he sees her. Lizzy. Curled on a small sofa that he's certain wasn't there before. It's been placed in the furthest corner out of the way of all the medical equipment surrounding his bed.

"Some of your associates finally brought it in when she refused to leave to sleep. Okay, I'm going to let you rest but there is a call light on the bed if you need anything."

"Wait," he says, finally tearing his eyes away. "Thank you….?"

"Just call me Fresno. I'll check on you in a bit."

Apparently he wasn't dreaming as the hazy memories of the previous night come back to him. Lizzy waking him. The softness of her lips against his own, the feel of her as she leaned into him. What he wouldn't give to wake up to that the rest of his days.

The discomfort is immediate as he shifts position. It's hard to find one even with the pain dampened as it is by the meds. There is no thought of calling the nurse. He has everything that he needs and he watches her for as long as possible. Just a minute or two before he closes his eyes giving into sleep.

* * *

The second time he wakes is to the familiar feeling of someone sitting at his side, leaning close and a smile forms before he opens his eyes. She is smiling tiredly back at him and is nothing short of rumpled from her long day and even longer night. He thinks she has never looked lovelier than that moment.

"I couldn't resist waking you. Again."

"Lizzy, feel free to wake me anytime."

"I'll do that. Dare I ask how you're feeling?"

"Never better," he croaks out, still doing a marvelous imitation of a frog.

"Great, then drink up." She presses a button that raises his head a little higher. With a cup at the ready, she helps him sip water from a straw and attempts to disguise her alarm at just how weak he is.

When he has had enough he collapses back. God, he has no idea how he managed to fire his weapon or take out one much less three of the Cabal operatives. Without the adrenaline and the need to see her again he would never have survived.

"More?" she asks holding up the cup, but at the shake of his head she places it back on the table.

He is watching her and she waits for him knowing there are things that must be said. Knowing she has prevented him saying what would cause him pain, hoping to get them further from the trauma of the shooting. They have survived to another day and perhaps that is far enough for her to listen.

He makes a small movement with his hand and instinctively she places her own there, just as they were the night before.

"I'm sorry."

A bottomless well of regret in his simple words. It is more than enough.

"I know."

"If I could undo all of it…."

Of course she understands. How could she not with so much she wishes she could now do differently.

"Raymond, I don't want to talk about Tom. I need to hear it but right now I only want to know why you didn't tell me."

He has no more defenses. A bullet ripping him apart has torn them all away.

"I couldn't in the beginning for obvious reasons. I needed to stay close until Berlin showed himself and, of course, you wouldn't have believed me."

There is no judgement in his tone, only the simple truth of the matter. She did not believe him in those early days and would never have taken his word over Tom's had he told her of a past connection. There is pain in every word, in every part of his body as he stops to take a breath.

"You're hurting. I'll call someone—"

"No, don't."

It comes out in a gasp as he shifts positions and she wishes they could wait for this conversation, but the unspoken is suffocating him and she can no longer deny him his need to tell her.

"I'm fine, Lizzy. In fact—"

"Don't you dare tell me you've had worse."

He chuckles and it is the sweetest sound to her. She says no more and waits for him to settle back.

When he is able to continue, he looks back focusing on every nuance of her expression.

"After Berlin, I wanted to tell you. Everyday I thought I could say the words, but it was easier to put it off and put it off. It is inexcusable and there is only one reason for it."

"Tell me," she whispers when he doesn't continue.

"That we would end up broken beyond repair and the thought of that was…"

 _Too much._ Too much to contemplate added to everything else.

"Raymond, we're not broken. I don't know much else at the moment but I do know that."

"Why aren't you angry?" he asks with a small shake of his head. Confusion mixing with the regret in his eyes.

"Oh, I am." She smiles though and he immediately relaxes. "But I'm also so damned grateful we're here that I can't find it within myself to yell at you anymore.”

He lets go of her hand and it moves up and down her forearm a time or two before coming to rest. Undeserving though he may be, he knows just what she means. So damned thankful to have her close and the need for more has him pulling her nearer.

"Come here."

"Where?" she asks with feigned innocence.

"You'll see."

With his one functioning arm he guides his hand up and around her neck. If not for the pain slicing through his torso he'd swear he really was in the midst of a dream but he doesn't give it a second thought.

So close as her hand reaches up to hold his in place and his eyes shut just at the slightest brush of her lips against his.

"Well, I suppose this might be the time to go over what you can and cannot do, Raymond.  _That_  is a can but it could lead to a cannot rather quickly. We really need your blood pressure at an even keel, pal. Look, it has already spiked."

"This never used to be this difficult," Red mutters as Lizzy sits back and they look over at the new arrival. "Elizabeth, this is Dr. Carl Sack. Old friend and general pain in the—"

"Agent Keen, at last. Pleasure to meet you."

She is somewhat taken aback by his looming figure and the fact he is grinning from ear to ear. If she didn't know better she'd think he was having the time of his life.

Suddenly recalling the title Red used, she looks back to ask, "Doctor? Did you send Nik on his way then?"

She smiles as he clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably a moment before answering. "Yes, well, he was compensated accordingly."

"And the fact he's my former—"

"One thing has very little to do with the other."

"Uh huh."

He gives up knowing he isn't fooling her one bit, but now he's wondering if he traded one irritation for another.

"Dr. Sack, I believe you were saying something about restrictions."

Suddenly he realizes he's completely outnumbered with the other man's  _Just call me Carl_ and Lizzy immediately returning his smile. And surely he doesn't intend to…

"No booze, no cigars, no flying, no giving the nurses any grief, no refusing your medication, and lastly no doing anything  _strenuous_ until I give the all clear. Are we clear?"

"Crystal," Lizzy answers on his behalf. Honestly, he can't believe she's not on his side here, but her next words prove otherwise.

"I'll see to it. Now I imagine there are a few other things you need to discuss so I'll leave you to it."

"But—"

She smothers a laugh at Raymond's wounded pride at not being the one in charge for once. Instead of a kiss they must settle for a squeeze of their hands before she leaves the tent. Her laughter won't be contained, however, as she listens to their conversation fading away.

"You can always go straight back to Boston, you know."

"And miss all the fun? Never. Now let's talk about ways of building back your stamina. Looks like you'll be needing it."

"Carl, I swear I'm going to…."

* * *

"Can we talk about this first?"

"No, quit stalling."

"This didn't work out well yesterday."

"You were alone and barely out of recovery. It's a wonder you didn't fall on your face."

He snorts at the truth of her words but still doesn't budge from where he sits on the side of the bed. The image of him all but collapsing and having to crawl to the fallen soldier in order to retrieve another weapon is at the forefront of his mind. Why on earth Carl thinks it's necessary for him to run a marathon today he will never understand.

She had left him to the medical staff for quite awhile in the morning. There were lab tests and x-rays to get out of the way. An opportunity for him to speak privately with his doctor.

After washing up as best she could, she placed a call to Cooper informing him she would not be in the office today and would keep him posted. They seemed to have reached an impasse with The Cabal backing down for the time being and Raymond needing to recover, which will take weeks considering the severity of his injuries. Therefore, she thinks the Post Office can do without her a day or so.

She had checked in with Leonard who had taken up residence in a small office and was busy sorting through their copy of the files retrieved from the Fulcrum. Her mind seems too scattered today to be of any use and so she had let him be. Not really knowing what to do with herself or how much time she should stay away, she decided to walk the perimeter of the warehouse in an attempt to burn off some of the nervous energy.

On the third circuit, Dembe found her to deliver a message. "Raymond is wondering why you're avoiding him."

"Well, I didn't want to intrude with tests going on and—"

"Elizabeth, it will be alright. You both will find your way."

Perhaps that is all it is. Just a little more time to pass as they get used to this new….something.

She returned to the tent to find him scowling at his breakfast tray.

"Lizzy, would you look at this. A  _soft_ diet they call it. More like mush if you ask me."

Coming to stand at his bedside she had to agree with his assessment.

"At least there's jello," she offers with an attempt at humor. He is not amused.

"I never imagined Carl would sink to this level." Plopping his spoon back on the tray he had continued. "You were gone awhile. Is everything okay?"

"I didn't want to hover and thought you may need a break."

"What I need is you and an actual breakfast in that particular order."

Moving the tray closer, she had tapped her finger on the handle of the spoon. "You have me along with oatmeal, if I'm not mistaken, and green jello. Breakfast of champions."

That at least earned her a chuckle but instead of the spoon he had taken her hand and brought it to his lips. Such a simple thing but she swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat. God, to think how close she came to losing...with a shake of her head she forced the thought away, not wanting to dwell on it.

Now a few hours later, she is most definitely hovering and he is without a doubt wishing she would give him a break.

"Carl says it's time to get up for a walk and that is just what you're going to do."

"Lizzy, please never start a sentence with  _Carl says_ , I beg you."

She glances beyond Raymond to where Dembe stands on the other side, smiling in amusement. He seems more than content to let them find their way as he called it and is enjoying the process immensely.

With a roll of her eyes she decides on a different tact. Stepping closer and placing her hands on his shoulders, she bends down to whisper in his ear. "Stamina, Raymond."

She lingers there with her mouth very near to his ear and smiles when he leans in closer. Stepping back, she watches as he follows her with his eyes and knows the argument has already been won.

"You make an excellent point. Let's go."

They go and though the progress is slow there are certain benefits to the torture they are putting him through. Namely Lizzy at his good side with her arm around him. He lets his drape across her shoulder, first because it comes so naturally and second he finds he needs the extra support.

After shuffling out into the center of the warehouse that is now empty they stop to rest before the return trip. As she brings another chair to sit with him, she wonders if Dembe had everyone leave to give him privacy. His next words confirm her theory.

"I hate feeling this weak," he says almost to himself as he leans back and closes his eyes.

She understands. It is difficult for her to see him in such a state. "Every day will get better."

He glances over and smiles. "Yes."

It already is.

* * *

The afternoon fades away.

Raymond naps off and on and Lizzy finds herself doing the same or just sitting quietly near him. Hard to imagine that only twenty-four hours ago they were in a gunfight in the middle of the street.

"Lizzy?"

"Hmmm."

"Will you tell me about Tom?"

She had been lost in thought but turns to find him watching her. "What do you mean?"

"What happened yesterday before….we met in the street."

They seem to be thinking of the same thing just then. Angry words and the crack of the rifle that followed.

Leaving the chair, she comes to sit by him and he shifts over automatically now. She had always planned to tell him and does so now. The burner phone and the deal they struck. Cooper taking the passport from evidence lockup and their plan to track Tom's movements. The regret she carries that she let him live in the first place knowing what came from that decision. Difficult words but she tells him all of it.

"Not what he deserved, but it was the best plan we came up with. He will not be returning."

He rests back closing his eyes and she can see him going over the events in his mind.

"Now you tell me about Tom," she adds quietly.

He looks back trying to discern her calm expression. "Are you sure?"

"Raymond, in a few days you're going to leave this place and move to a safehouse. I don't want Tom there with us. Tell me now so we can leave it here. I think I know most of it, but I also know you need to explain the events yourself."

He begins at the beginning. A threat from an unknown enemy that grew until he became fearful of the danger posed to certain vulnerabilities.

"So you hired him to follow me," she asks, forcing her voice to remain neutral.

"Actually no. More to assess those closest to you. To determine if they were not who they were purported to be. As it happens Berlin already had an operative in place. Whether Tom discovered that individual or vice versa I'm not sure to this day. However it happened, a better deal was offered and he took it, all the while sending back false reports. By the time it was discovered that he had in fact infiltrated your life, you were already married. It was a quick…"

"Engagement," she finishes for him when he trails off. "Yes, Tom manipulated that as well. I see it all so clearly looking back."

"He fooled everyone, Lizzy, until it had progressed to the point that simply killing him wasn't an easy option. I feared whoever had hired him would find you of no further value should Tom be removed from the equation. There was no way to guarantee your safety. The only option at that point was to surrender and force Berlin from the shadows."

It's not the surrender that she thinks of now but the little clue he let slip all those months ago. About the strange trip to the desert where he ended up lost and wandering. Devastated after discovering she had married the man who betrayed him.

"You have every right to hate me," he says quietly.

He looks away and she watches the myriad of emotion cross his features. They all lead to the same place and one she has witnessed more times than she can count since he entered her life. Anguish. She wonders if he has known anything else since all of this began. One thing is certain. The path doesn't begin with Tom's betrayal but travels back decades to a Christmas Eve and a story that remains unknown to her.

It is too overwhelming to contemplate and so she will focus on what she is certain of.

"Perhaps I do have that right, but I don't. It's just that simple. If I've learned one thing in all of this, it's about intent. How many times have you told me I will have to forgive myself for the Harbormaster's murder? Then I will say the same. You did not intend for Tom to hurt me, just as I did not foresee him murdering that man. The fault lies with him and it's time to be done with it."

At last he returns her gaze but there are no words. None are needed as he places a hand on her knee and her own comes to rest over it almost immediately. He nods and she does the same. Just as they did in the last moments before his surgery when there was no knowing what awaited them.

There is still no knowing. A day from a confrontation in the street that ended in an assassin's bullet and here they sit. The Cabal, the task force, a past they will eventually confront but none of it matters. For now, this first day is what is important.

Until she thinks of what awaits them the next day.

"I'll be here first thing in the morning. Now I really feel, and Carl agrees, that you should walk at least twice the distance if not more."

He appears nothing short of appalled and she smothers a laugh.

"Please never use the words  _Carl agrees_  again. I'm a wounded man. I need rest and—"

"Eight sharp, Raymond. A morning stroll is just the thing."

This earns her a squeeze of her knee as he admits defeat. "A stroll does sound charming."

"Then we'll share a—"

"Don't mind me. I'll only be a sec."

They are interrupted by the nurse who comes to check the setting of his medication. She leaves as quickly as she came and they smile back at each other. There have been numerous interruptions throughout the day and they are used to them by now.

"You were saying something about sharing, Lizzy. What will we share?"

Her belly does that funny flutter when he looks at her as he is right now. "Jello. We'll take a walk, then share a jello and figure the rest out later."

He can't help the chuckle at her unexpected answer but doubts seriously she is thinking of jello the way her hand is lightly running up and down his forearm. Ah well, considering he'd be doing good to walk across the room unaided at the moment, he supposes  _later_  will have to do. It is enough that she is here.

How many second chances has he received through the years he will never know. Sometimes the smallest twist of fate that insured his survival, but it is the forgiveness that astonishes. All this time, every decision he has made good or bad has been to stay by her side. That she would choose the same, that they remain unbroken….well, he didn't think it possible to love her more.

"I look forward to it," he says quietly. "But please, anything but the jello."

And her laughter feels so good as it fills up the room, this is most definitely enough. For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not being a Nik fan I couldn’t wait to get rid of that guy. For some odd reason I envisioned Red’s personal doctor as Carl from Boston Legal and John Larroquette was willing to reprise the role so…


	27. Stronger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline 2.20
> 
> Well heck, I rewrote this episode too. As much as I enjoyed Lizzy breaking into Red’s apartment I can’t say I’m that interested in Katarina at this point especially after Requiem so we’ll rejoin canon in 2.21 how about and steer clear of the mommybait and that horrible rain scene. 
> 
> Big thanks for the comments and kudos. Thanks for reading!

_You've no idea do you_  
_What I'll do for you_  
_To have so much to lose  
_ _Is the only feeling_

* * *

Red is studying her again. She knows this because she is watching him in return. Glaring at him, more like. Five days after having a bullet removed from his chest as Leonard so succinctly put it and here he is, going over information contained in the Fulcrum when he needs to recover first.

"Raymond, you should be resting."

"Then why do you keep insisting I walk more?"

"You should be resting in between the walking and exercises for your arm. The Fulcrum can wait." Honestly why is he making this so difficult?

"I'm perfectly capable of sitting in a chair while Leonard explains the intel. I assure you the Fulcrum cannot wait."

"But—"

"Our apologies, Leonard," he says turning away. "You were saying something about configuring the optical character something or other. Please go on."

Leonard hesitates but feeling another war brewing besides the one involving The Cabal, he proceeds full speed explaining the additional information pulled from the mysterious device. Lizzy gives up in a huff, attempting to concentrate on the clandestine organization, the Director and all the forces working against them, but it is no use. Her mind simply will not focus and wanders yet again to the unknown. Something she can't explain but senses just the same.

It's there between them. Some widening of the space between. How it came so quickly she isn't exactly sure and wonders if he is aware. He must be as she catches the sadness in his eyes before he glances away. Not about Tom, of that she is certain. They have left it behind them as she had hoped. Somehow just the telling of it was enough and the day after the shooting was the day she knew they were finally free of the imposter.

What then? What is it that made him retreat? It's more than just his testiness as she would expect nothing less given his current state. More than being fussed over by Dembe and herself and even Mr. Kaplan at times. She would probably lose her patience as well. It isn't any of those things, but simply a hesitancy when he is near her. Not at all the man who had wanted to kiss her, needed to and if Carl hadn't interrupted….

With a shake of her head to clear her thoughts, she begins going over the events of the last several days. Their meeting in the street, her fury at his secrecy and the gunshot that echoed off the buildings. Watching them cut into his chest until she left to locate the interface secured in his flat. Walking to his bedside that night after the battle they had fought and not stopping until her lips met his. Until he opened his eyes and said her name and she felt….

"I need some air."

Ignoring the surprised looks from both Red and Leonard, she springs up and walks straight out the front door and down the drive to the road winding round the mansion. With a glance toward the river, she continues on until she makes a full circuit of the property and still her steps don't slow. Surely the racing of her pulse has more to do with how briskly she is walking and not this flood of emotion.

After the second pass she stops to catch her breath and glances toward the decaying old house. Why Mr. Kaplan arranged it as the meeting place for their work she can't imagine but then with a look at the river and the path behind her, she thinks she understands. Red has returned to his flat but will spend the majority of the day here with Leonard. Mr. Kaplan knew he would need a place to walk that afforded him privacy but she gave him a view as well. One that Liz seems in need of at the moment.

Not ready to return to face Red's searching gaze or Leonard's never ending proof of The Cabal's power, she sets off again. Around she goes until finally stopping to leave the drive and walk toward a lookout that has caught her eye. A weathered bench almost hidden by the overgrown foliage surrounding the estate sits facing the river.

It seems like a good place to stop and for the first time Liz allows herself to think. Really think.

She had certainly not let herself visualize anything beyond the surgical tent in the hours after the shooting when so often it was just the two of them. When that was all that mattered. How easy it was to focus only on surviving that first day and then the next. Now days have passed and there is another blacklister to catch and the Director to contend with but here she sits attempting to understand why the memory of that interrupted kiss should suddenly disconcert her. Why Raymond closing himself off since returning home has caused such a disquiet to settle over her.

"Dammit."

There is no one to hear her whispered word or see the tremble in her hands. No one to talk to about why she delays returning to the task force when the one person she should talk to sits in the mansion behind her wondering what is wrong. Well, one thing is clear. She's not going back in that house, at least not today and not until she feels steadier. Until he won't be able to read in her expression what she cannot yet say to herself.

With a sigh she finally leaves the bench and heads directly to her car only to find Dembe casually leaning against it.

"Did he send you to check up on me?"

It seems Red isn't the only one who is cranky and she immediately regrets her words.

"Dembe, I'm sorry—"

"He did not send me, Elizabeth, but I doubt he has heard a word Caul has said in the last half hour."

Perhaps she should stay but something tells her to leave it for now and go to the Post Office. God, when did she become this indecisive?

As if sensing her confusion, he continues, "Raymond will understand your need to begin the investigation."

The man who knows Red so well is on his way to doing the same with her and she smiles gratefully.

"I'll do that then and check in later." However he makes no move to leave. "Is something wrong?"

What a question considering the week they've endured but there is something he wants to tell her, of that she is sure. "Dembe, what is it?"

"The apartment in Bethesda, it is very important to Raymond."

"Yes, I thought as much."

"It is one of a very few that house those items of greatest importance to him. Therefore it is fitted with every measure of security and…...surveillance."

Ah, now she understands and isn't shocked at the admission. She should have known but it is one more thing she has forced from her mind not yet being able to contemplate its meaning. The photograph.

"So that is why…."

Dembe gives a slight nod of his head and they say no more. There is no need as they are both now thinking of the same thing.

Red returned to the apartment after the shooting and obviously watched whatever video was made of her trip inside to obtain the interface and the recognition of herself as the girl in the picture. So it is a mother and child from long ago that is the reason for him pulling away. Her past is catching up with them and there will come a day when it can no longer be hidden.

"I couldn't talk to him about it. Not with everything that had happened."

"You will know when the time has come. I won't keep you any longer, Elizabeth."

He has said what he came to say and will return to Raymond. Not an easy thing for him as his first loyalty is to his friend but he knew she needed to understand.

"Dembe, tell him…"

He waits for her to finish but she isn't sure what she would have him say on her behalf. There is simply too much.

"Tell him I'll talk to him later, okay?"

 _Coward_. She ignores the voice in her head and hopes their next conversation goes better than the last. With a wave, she returns Dembe's smile before turning and driving away.

* * *

It's past one and he is up pacing his room again. A nightly occurrence since Carl saw fit to let him leave the triage unit. If Lizzy knew how much he has walked the floor of this small room, she might not insist he do so much of it during the day.

His body has been turned inside out and it seems his mind hasn't escaped the onslaught. As soon as he stepped beyond the relative safety of the warehouse the world came crashing back into him.

All of it. The past as well as the present.

Almost immediately after returning home, Dembe handed him a tablet showing the recording of Lizzy staring at her childhood face in the picture. He does not blame his friend for doing so. It is right that he should know it and prepare some sort of response for the inevitable question. What that should be he cannot fathom but every moment they have spent together since, he has waited for her to broach the subject to no avail.

It weighs on him. The same burden he carried when he struggled to tell her about Tom and here he is again. Another horror that he will somehow have to find a way to recount. How is it he can talk his way out of all manner of trouble but one look at the pain behind her eyes and he crumbles. Never has any woman had such a power to render him speechless.

He's soon out of breath and the tightness begins spreading across his chest forcing him to drop into a chair. What he should do is return to bed and attempt a few hours of sleep instead of wondering what brought about her hasty departure earlier today. Why she never returned and why they did not  _speak later_  as she had relayed through Dembe. Telling himself it is better this way does no good.

Without a thought he reaches a hand for the glass of scotch that is nowhere to be had. Thanks to Carl and his list of numerous restrictions, Dembe has made sure the flat is bone dry. Ridiculous. As ridiculous as thinking anything further should occur between Lizzy and himself. It was the trauma of the shooting, that is all. It seems the only possible explanation for that kiss that still surprises the hell out of him.

Every day he expects her to demand answers regarding the photograph but she remains silent. He waits for her to retreat knowing it is the prudent thing to do. Go back to her side of the law while he stays on his, but she doesn't seem that concerned with sides at the moment. She is still there with him even with a picture of a forgotten mother that she will not talk about. That she has chosen to set it aside to allow him to recover in peace overwhelms him. He doesn't deserve….

The thought has him shifting position in the chair as the pain presses in on him. No, he doesn't deserve her but how he wants her, misses her even after so short a time. What a fool he is and still his hand reaches for the phone. She answers on the first ring.

"Hey."

A little surprised but he recognizes the relief in her voice and takes a moment to swallow before attempting a reply.

"Raymond? You okay?"

She knows him so well. He doubts seriously she understands just how much.

"Never better, Lizzy, never better." Where he musters the strength he can't imagine.

"Well, keep telling yourself that at least."

He chuckles at her comeback and the ache in his chest immediately lessens. "Am I disturbing you?"

"No, I…..had thought about calling but was hoping you were able to sleep."

"Yes, well, it seems my days and nights have been turned upside down and we used to talk quite a bit late at night so I thought…"

She catches the wistfulness that has crept into his voice and wonders what really prompted his first middle of the night call.

"….but it really is late or I should say early and perhaps—"

"Raymond, I'm glad you called. Now tell me what's on your mind."

His audible sigh is the only response. Not how she had thought to broach the subject but she can no longer let it go knowing it is what is driving them apart.

"Does this have anything to do with the photograph?"

More silence and how she wishes she could see him just then. Attempt to discern what is going on behind those eyes of his. The ones that watch and wait but don't hold her gaze these last few days.

"Is she my mother?" she asks when he remains silent. This question that she already knows the answer to deep inside but also needs his confirmation.

"Yes."

That one word seems pulled from him by force so heavy is the impact.

"You realized that I saw it. Why didn't you bring it up?"

"I could ask the same."

"You know the answer to that."

He does, of course he does. His injuries being what they were, what they still are prompted her silence.

"Lizzy, there are things I swore never to speak of….promises were made."

His turn to wait as the seconds tick by. As she contemplates what she has the strength to hear having learned she can take only so many revelations at once.

"Well you're in luck," she says with the trace of resignation in her tone. "You don't have to break those promises, at least not now, but that won't always be the case I'm afraid. You know that, don't you? These ghosts will always be between us in one form or the other unless you tell me and we can finally let them go."

The last thing he feels is lucky to know the inevitability of it is there between them. "I don't want to see you hurt."

The simple truth but she answers it with her own. "I've already been hurt."

She can't see him close his eyes at her words. The grimace that crosses his features from the pressure in his chest that is unrelated to the damage caused by an assassin's rifle. It brings to mind their last meeting and what he has wondered about all day. What has worried his mind and kept him from resting.

"What happened earlier today?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know the answer to that," he says, repeating her earlier words.

Yes, she does. Why she left so abruptly and did not return needing a little time to regain her balance. It's as if he can read her thoughts.

"Lizzy, nothing has to change. Nothing  _should_  change, in all honesty."

Yet everything is different and they both know it. It is useless to think otherwise. It is also not a conversation for such a moment.

"Raymond, I don't want to talk about this over the phone so let's continue this tomorrow. Now it's late and although you may hate when I say it, you really do need to rest. Please."

He doesn't hate it. How could he possibly when the idea that she would care about him after all that has happened still astonishes.

"Until tomorrow then."

"Sleep well."

He lies down feeling it would be wrong not to in the face of her concern but his eyes search the darkness until the early morning hours. Waiting for answers to questions decades in the making.

* * *

Well, it seems they won't be continuing the previous night's conversation anytime soon as Red is dozing when Liz drops by the mansion the following afternoon. Seeing the concern in her features, Dembe smiles reassuringly.

"It will take time, Elizabeth," he whispers before moving off to the back of the house leaving her standing in the doorway of the sitting room.

She's not exactly sure how much of that they really have with the Cabal certainly planning their counterstrike. How close she came to losing him and the thought it could happen again is unbearable. Is this the agony he felt when Anslo held a gun to her head? Or the desperation that drove him to the bottom of that empty pool when he finally found her after she was taken by Braxton? Is this the terrible fear he experienced thinking he would arrive too late?

It's crushing in its intensity and she reaches a hand toward the door frame for support. Watching him at his most vulnerable when the exhaustion and trauma have dampened his finely honed instincts of self-protection. Hers, however, are in tune to every danger surrounding them as the gunfire still echoes in her ears. As the vision of him falling, disappearing from view replays like a movie in her mind.

She knows now. At last she understands what is there under that fear and desperation. What it is that drove her to find him in the black site prison and the King's secret auction. Why she can't let him go. What she finds so difficult to name even to herself but it is there all the same.

_That's what love is, being powerless._

His words come back to her, but it was what came after that she also recalls as she watches him sleeping. As she focuses on the rise and fall of his chest just the way she did the day of the shooting, afraid every moment it would stop. That everything in the world would go still and flat.

What was it she told him all those months ago when she finally made some sense of what had happened? She never gained strength from that love he spoke of. That's how she was certain it was gone, that it was never based on anything tangible. It was a figment and as corrupt as the imposter who entered her life. Both pale in comparison to the longing pressing in on her for this man who also made a rather dramatic entrance into her life but for an altogether different reason.

Perhaps she has no control over her emotions. Perhaps she doesn't yet fully understand them, but at least there is strength. The fortitude to meet Dembe in the street as the bullets flew past or to walk into the office of the Director and bargain for Raymond's life. When reason tells her she should go and leave all this behind, she finds herself unwilling to do so. She would not have it any other way. How certain she was that she would never again allow herself to feel...

He wakes instantly and glances over to find her studying him from the doorway. His greeting dies in his throat. The offhand comment he would have made that she has caught him unaware but her expression won't allow for it. He's seen it before but only as a flash of the fire that is so obvious to him now. All those times he'd catch a glimpse of it as she looked at him and he couldn't help but wonder what it was, what she was thinking at that exact moment. He's never had the courage to ask. Not even now.

"Are you alright?"

He watches her watching him and doesn't miss the breath she takes. The calm that returns to her face as if a decision has been made and he inclines his head wondering. Always wondering.

"Actually, I am," she answers as she walks toward him.

Stopping in front of the sofa, she holds out her hand and when he hesitates, says softly, "It's only a hand, Raymond."

He swallows as the memory stirs, when he said those same words and reached out, hoping against hope she would take hold. That long ago night when he found her wrapped up within herself after the fight with Tom. Injured and broken and yet he asked for her trust and unbelievably she gave it. She should go, he knows it, but he takes her hand and rises to meet her. Powerless to do otherwise.

"Let's go for a walk."

The betrayal is immediate. "Lizzy, for goodness sake—"

"I promise it'll be worth it. Come on."

Trust is difficult, most difficult at times, but he lets her lead the way and soon they are strolling under the afternoon sun. Soon he is breathing a little deeper and thinks her hand in his has never felt as right.

"I have to admit to feeling better for this outing."

"Great, I'll be sure to tell Dembe to increase the distance," and laughs as the outrage returns. "We're almost there, try and keep up."

"Where?" he asks not seeing anything but the path stretched out before them.

"Here."

She leads him off the drive toward the river and soon he sees the small lookout and the old bench. If he had known this was here all along he'd have been more inclined to get out.

"I had no idea…"

"I found it yesterday. Come and sit. It really is quite lovely."

It really is, he thinks, but it isn't the river or the hills beyond that has caught his attention. She is lovely with the smile that has returned as she closes her eyes to the breeze.

Glancing between them to their hands still linked together, he can no longer leave the question unspoken. "Lizzy, what are we doing?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know."

This again and she laughs softly as she turns to look at him. What exactly are they doing? An agent and a criminal holding hands by the river. Where would she begin to answer such a question.

"I think we are doing what we must. What we both want if I'm not being too presumptuous."

He can't help but smile at the old line but the worry will not leave. "Our association will only put you in danger."

"That sounds very clinical but I doubt much will add to the danger I'm in after threatening the Director. I'm afraid it's a done deal, Raymond."

Just the same as the pair of them.  _A_   _done deal._ Somehow they always were, from the moment he saw her the day he gave up his freedom in hopes of saving her. As inevitable at the current flowing toward the ocean. Yet he has been saved as well. He never would have believed it could be so.

Letting go, he slides his hand around to her back.

"Hey, your arm is better," she says a little surprised.

"Contrary to popular belief I have been doing what the doctor ordered. Where's the trust, I'd like to know."

"I do trust you," she returns quietly, no longer teasing him.

What a difficult road that has brought them here but where else could it have possibly led? Softly, so softly, she brings her hands up to link behind his head. Tentatively with the concern of causing him pain until she feels his other hand move to her back. The steadiness of his touch as he brings her closer causes her to forget being careful until everything blurs and just as her eyes close…

"What is it?" she asks feeling him draw back.

"Just waiting for the interruption that usually breaks up these little moments."

He smiles at the roll of her eyes as the fire returns to flash there. "Raymond, are you kidding me right now? Besides, the first time we weren't interrupted, but now that I think about it, the second time Carl did say something about your blood pressure—"

She is highly amused, having bested him at his own game.

"I assure you my blood pressure is working just fine."

"Then will you stop talking and—"

The words are lost as he kisses her. Finally, kisses her as he has wanted for so long and still finds difficult to believe she would feel the same. But here she is and needing more from him. It is Lizzy that closes the distance, the last few inches between them disappearing as she presses her body to his. He is lost, well and truly lost. Also a little out of breath and pulling back…..

"Don't stop," she whispers immediately.

"Okay."

She never wants it to end. In all the times she has imagined this, she never thought it would feel so….right. So completely right as she gives into this need, wanting him more than she thought possible.

"I'd say the third time's the charm, Raymond," she murmurs just as out of breath as he when they finally break apart.

"You stole my line."

She brings her hand to his cheek, marveling at his ability to thrill her but to also make her laugh. That she could be this close to happy with all the chaos around them is a gift. He takes her hand and lightly kisses her palm and there's that thrill again. However, she doesn't miss the grimace of pain as he brings his right arm back to his side.

"How are you feeling?"

He's most definitely concentrating on slowing his breathing, his shoulder feels like it is burning from the inside out and he swears the wind is whistling through the hole in his lung. "Feeling fine, Elizabeth. Stronger all the time."

She scoots closer to his side and waits for him to find a comfortable position before relaxing against him.

"Me too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I promise we’re getting to the on the run. I’ve just been enjoying Red and Lizzy during this recovery time. Promise all hell is about to break loose, rocket man will play softly in the background and the fun will begin....


	28. Red Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline 2.21

_Keep moving_  
_Show me some light_  
_Keep breathing  
_ _Don't want you leaving_

* * *

"Agent Keen, what a pleasure."

The words are spoken so close to her ear she can feel his breath on her skin and are all together too seductive for the Post Office. They are also completely unexpected and with a yelp of surprise she sloshes coffee all over Aram's workstation, missing him and his laptop by an inch.

Whirling around, she can't help exclaiming, "Raym….er...Red…"

She stops short completely flustered and realizes the man himself knows full well the effect he is having on her, unintended though it may be. That little smile and the way he tilts his head as he watches her and my god they may as well shout  _it_  to everyone in the building.

But with a glance around the war room, it is very much business as usual except for Aram's  _Welcome back, Mr. Reddington_ as he mops up the spilled coffee.

"Aram, if you'll excuse us I'm sure Reddington is here with information on our next blacklister."

"Sorry to disappoint Agent Mojtabai but I'm only here to see you,  _Agent Keen_. It's been far too long between visits."

There are times she could honestly throttle him but she settles for a firm grip on his good arm as she all but drags him to her office.

"Will you stop being so obvious?" she says with a huff as the office door closes behind her.

"I'd hardly call walking off the elevator  _obvious_ , Lizzy, but I'll see what I can do."

"Okay, okay." Leaning back, she finally relaxes enough to return his smile. "And save the whispering in my ear for…."

"More opportune moments?"

"Yes, those. So you really don't have our next case?"

He takes a moment to remove his coat and fedora which he places in the chair then rests against her desk as she seems unwilling to move from her post at the door. "I do not. I came because I wanted to see you."

"I'm glad."

Her response is barely audible and he almost asks if her office is bugged but thinks he's already pushed his luck pretty far. The seconds tick by and he's hoping Ressler doesn't barge in while she wonders why she didn't prepare herself for this moment when he would inevitably return to the task force.

It is the same yet entirely different. His usual unflappable calm,  _damn him,_  but now there is that unmistakable charge in the air. Ahhh yes, he does feel it as his eyes narrow just the slightest. Only enough that she would notice and she relaxes a bit more. There is no need to worry, really. Why should anyone on the task force suspect anything in the first place? Besides the fact he only speaks with her and they seem to have saved each other way too many times or….

"Fancy an early lunch?"

"What?" she asks in confusion.

"Lunch? I assume the FBI has heard of such a tradition."

"Yes, of course but…."

He sees her hesitation and understands the reason for it. "But perhaps another time."

Gathering his coat and hat sooner than he had wanted he meets her at the door where she doesn't budge. "I just need to get used to the idea of you and I here. Together. Well, not together, but you know—"

He chuckles as she rambles on and she finally gives up trying to explain. "I'm being foolish."

"You're not, LIzzy. You're being prudent as you should. No need giving the office anything to gossip about."

"I'll stop by later then if that's okay?"

"You need never ask. Later it is."

She still doesn't move and he finally reaches behind her to turn the knob, pulling it and her nearer. With a wink he is gone and she resists the urge to watch his progress through the blinds covering the window.

How many times she will come back to this moment, go over it in her mind. Laugh at herself and wish she had taken him up on the lunch date. Wishing she had known then what was coming and that the kiss on the bench overlooking the river was all the world seemed willing to offer them.

* * *

_Karakurt is in country._

Red's total change in demeanor just a few hours later conveys the seriousness of the imminent threat. An attack on an American defense installation because there aren't enough of those in and around the DC area including where she goes to work everyday. Liz is hardly through the door of the safe house before she is leaving to call the task force back together.

He follows her out the door and watches until her car passes out of view. Stays until darkness descends and Dembe passes him to pull the Mercedes around for their journey back to his flat.

What is he missing? What piece of the puzzle hasn't he figured out that has this sense of dread descending on him? She is in danger but that has not changed. As is every member of her unit. So is he as the ache in his chest reminds him daily. No, it is something more that keeps him up half the night sorting and reworking what he has already learned.

Always he is the one who is a step ahead, but not this time. Try as he might The Cabal keeps the upper hand. The call warning of the bomb hidden in the moving truck comes too late to save the CIA team. Only luck or providence prevented Lizzy from being in the building when it blew and her voice at the other end of the line did nothing to alleviate his fear.

When he was able to set the task force on Karakurt's location they were diverted to Union Station on Connolly's orders. Always a step ahead and the anger is hard to control thinking of the ambush that awaited. Lizzy knocked to the ground but for what reason? What part of this game is he still not seeing as he sits in Cooper's office wondering how things became this difficult.

He turns at the sound of the door opening when Lizzy enters to say, "We found a fully outfitted virology lab. Think he's building a bio-weapon. We seized his notebooks but we're going to need an expert in microbiology who can also translate Russian."

Finally something easy.

* * *

"Come here, let me have a look at you."

They are in the parking garage of the Post Office and have just moved out of sight of the guard stationed by the elevator when he pulls up short. Letting Dembe outpace them, he guides her a few steps to the right, stops and lifts her chin toward the light overhead.

"Reddington, don't even think about it. We probably have fourteen cameras on us right now."

"For your information I'm checking for signs of concussion as I'm sure after that bomb blast or the attack at Union Station you failed to visit the medical unit."

"I've been busy," she mumbles as he stares intently into her eyes and lightly brushes a thumb over the scrape on her forehead. "Besides, I know the symptoms to look for."

"Do you?" As his voice drops in that way of his and he moves a step closer.

"Yes. Well there's….."

If he wouldn't look at her like that she'd be able to recall….

"Um, trouble concentrating and," she stops, hearing him chuckle and now what was the other? "Dizziness, and…."

"Go on," he murmurs and she'd love to if she could remember and he'd stop throwing her off balance...

"Seeing stars."

"That sounds fun."

It takes everything within her not to let her mind wander at the inflection in his voice and it's only the image of the security team watching and wondering that brings her back to the task at hand.

"And a headache, Raymond. Will you come on?"

He's chuckling again but she doesn't stop, heading directly for the car. However, he doesn't miss her smile that he catches reflected in the window.

They've been riding in silence when she finally asks the question, "Who is she?"

"She?"

"The microbiologist who happens to speak Russian?"

"How do you know she's a she?" he asks, a little surprised.

"You had a glint in your eye."

"Glint?" And turning to face her, he's smiling broadly as he continues. "Lizzy, please explain. I'm quite fascinated."

But there is no time as they arrive at a nondescript office building downtown. Linking an arm through hers as they walk in, he leans close to whisper, "You're the only glint in my eye, I assure you."

Well, she did tell him to save the whispering for more opportune moments, but glint or no glint she knew her assessment was accurate as soon as they enter the lab and the beautiful blonde approaches.

"Reddybear, oh I could eat you alive," she exclaims, coming to greet them. Or more specifically, Raymond.

"Ginger, this is Dr. Lauren Kimberly." Liz stops herself glancing over her shoulder realizing he's referring to her. "Lauren, my executive assistant Ginger Lumiere."

Between Red's smirk and Dr. Lauren giving her the once over, she really is beginning to feel that headache starting.

"Hmmm, interesting look. Purposeful but still feminine. You should try a darker shade of lipstick. I bet you could get away with a gloss."

Yes, there is definitely a pain behind her eyes and she tries not to glare at the pair of them.

"Lauren, we're going to have to forego the makeover today. We're in a bit of a pinch."

By the time he tells her the good doctor let him name a lipstick, Liz can't help thinking this may be a waste of time.  _Fire in the hole!_ There must be an easier way.

But it seems she does know a thing or two about virology as well as makeup. The information contained in the notebook is both better and worse than they feared. They are apparently not searching for a weapon of mass destruction but a rotavirus engineered to harm a single individual. Of all the power players in Washington, they must locate this one target.

Back in the car, they begin sorting through the clues.

_So we know Karakurt is targeting one person and it's keyed to his or her DNA._

_Think. He bombed the CIA's Russian section. That took time, money, and no small amount of risk….what does that say about their target?_

_He's high value. Someone important._

And finally she understands.

_Oh my god, that's why he did it. The memorial service. Politicians and military personnel, intelligence officers from overseas will all be there to pay their respects. One of them is the target._

He knows she has solved the next part of the puzzle but the foreboding is still there. There is still more that they do not know and therefore cannot foresee. Nothing in his world is more dangerous than the unanticipated.

She places a call to update the task force then asks Dembe to drop her a block or two from the church. When she leans back he can't help saying, "Be careful, Elizabeth."

"Aren't I always?"

But hearing the concern in his words, she reaches for his hand and wishes the moment could last. That the car didn't have to stop but would carry them far away. Someplace with less concrete and more sky where The Cabal couldn't find them.

She doesn't realize she's gotten lost in thought until he asks her, "What are you thinking about?"

Looking around she sees that they have pulled onto a side street near the cathedral. Her hand is still held in his and in a moment she will have to leave but he must know. "You were smiling. What was it?"

"I was thinking of  _Reddybear_  and  _Red Light_ and wishing…"

"Wishing?" he prompts when she trails off, gazing back out the window.

"I don't know exactly. So many things," she finishes with a sigh. "I have to go."

"I know." A squeeze of his hand and she leaves the car, disappearing into the crowd..

If he had only known the final piece of the puzzle was right there in his hand, he would have held on tight. Never let her go.

* * *

It seems impossible. Hundreds of guests and one grainy photo of Karakurt to work from. They've weaved in and out of the crowd more times than she can count but to no avail. When Samar calls with the actual name of the target, she thinks perhaps they have a chance of saving him.

Red has been busy it seems. His idea for Aram to run a search of hospital patients displaying symptoms of rotavirus led them to the death of Senator Hawkins son. A son very few people knew about and Lizzy has no time to contemplate the far reaching tentacles of The Cabal.

The crowd parts at that exact moment and she spots them. The senator reaching to shake the hand of the assassin they have hunted for days. She makes is just in time to yank his hand away while the other agents tackle Karakurt to the ground.

Yet nothing is as it seems. Nothing as it should be.

The Senator convulsing moments after they enter the vehicle and later Karakurt shown to be virus free.

What is she missing?

Red is wondering the same as Dembe brings their guest in. The elderly spy from the heyday of the Cold War, Anton Velov. Blindfolded and brought by force but still Red is hopeful he will prove useful. The informant for the now deceased CIA Russia desk and there's no time like the present to recruit him. Especially as the Director seems intent on starting another war.

"I'm surprised we never met. For many years while you were still with U.S. counterintelligence, I considered you the KGB's greatest enemy."

"Oh my god." Red says with a laugh. "That feels like ages ago. For what it's worth I was young. I had no concept of what a real enemy looked like. But I do now."

The last is said with deadly calm.

He knows exactly who the enemy is and what they're capable of. The reason he wasted no time in arranging this meeting. Only he is too late as Velov tells him of another. And then another.

"I got a phone call from the FBI, an agent named Elizabeth Keen. She wants to meet. She was asking about Katarina Rostova."

"Did you know Katarina Rostova?"

"No, not personally. All I know are the same old ghost stories we all share."

How familiar are those words. Hadn't Lizzy said the same? The ghosts they share and how they will always come between them until he tells her why they haunt them.

_And Agent Keen wasn't the first._

The knot forms in his chest. This is it. What has followed him for days as he attempted to sort the clues, discern the endgame. The unknown fear.

_Two men from Justice Department came to ask me about Katarina. They were asking about her KGB contacts, where she lived, and about a child._

_They asked about a child?_

What he has dreaded for decades and here it is finally realized. The true identity of the child hidden away in a small Nebraska town. Safe in her anonymity until she made her way back to this city of spies. Until The Cabal found them out and he should have known.

_Dembe, the phone._

Should never have underestimated his enemy's capabilities.

_Hey, I've got to call you right back._

No time to feel relief at the sound of her voice or grateful she was able to answer. No time at all.

_Lizzy, you need to get out of there now. You've been set up. The Cabal's been asking about you. They know who your mother was. You've been set up._

How can he make her understand?

_You were there when the Orea building was bombed. They wanted you to save Hawkins, to infect him in the process._

_I don't have the virus._

_You do, Lizzy. I don't need a test to know that you do. Your mother was a Russian spy and now they've made it look like you are too._

She watches as Connelly steps off the elevator and passes close behind her. Her back cuts into the wall where she tries to stay hidden and suddenly her vision clouds. With a shake of her head she reaches out for support. Not the aftereffects of her head injury but the memories of a child coming back to her. The smoke billowing under the closet door. An argument she doesn't understand. Heat and the looming wall of flame.

_Where is she?_

Voices shouting. A gunshot followed by screaming that never ends.

_Lizzy. Lizzy!_

His voice through the phone brings her back and the fog of memory fades, but it makes no difference. She is still just as trapped as that girl from long ago. Just as hunted.

_Where is she?_

The question echoes in her mind.

_Masha. Elizabeth._

So different. Lost to one another across the years, yet exactly the same.


	29. This Is Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline 2.22
> 
> Big thanks for reading and commenting! Hope you enjoy as we say goodbye to season 2...finally.

_And I think it's going to be a long long time  
'Till touch down brings me round again..._

* * *

It's not in her nature to run. Not now, not ever. Not when she was the youngest person appointed to head the mobile psych unit and a woman no less. Nor from the chauvinism that still pervades the halls of Quantico. Not when a helicopter picked her up on the front steps of her home and she was ushered into a blacksite to meet with one of the world's most notorious criminals. She did not run.

On the very day she finally learned the truth about Tom, when all she wanted to do was leave and never look back, she returned to the home she shared with a sociopath in order to find the truth. If she had the fortitude to endure that horror, why on earth would Raymond think she is going to scurry away and let the Cabal frame her for the Senator's murder. Doesn't he know her at all by now?

_If I run, it'll only make me look guilty. I'll be playing right into their hands._

_You're already in their hands. The only thing they haven't done is closed their fist. Go. Now._

_No. They can call me a criminal, but I'm not going to act like one._

She hangs up and can only hope that Cooper will have an idea of what she should do but any hope she had goes as quickly as it came. How stupidly foolish was she to think she could fight them from inside the steal walls of the Post Office. By the time she overhears Connolly's words to her boss, she knows there is no option but to escape.

Hand-picked by Raymond Reddington for unknown reasons, infected by the virus that killed a US Senator and the daughter of a Russian KGB asset. Everything has been twisted into a horrible lie. My god, she knew there would be hell to pay when she walked into the Director's office with the Fulcrum but she walked out with Raymond's life saved and that is all that had mattered. It is still all that matters but she had no idea the depth and breadth of the retribution that awaited.

It is not in her nature to run but there is no other choice. If only she hadn't waited too late. Much too late as she is apprehended with the smiling face of Tom Connolly looking on.

So be it.

* * *

And so it begins.

In an instant his entire focus shifts to getting her out of the Post Office and clearing her name. The first would be markedly easier with her cooperation but he understands the need to stand and fight, believe somehow the truth will out. Hadn't he done the same? Fought their corruption until his life was stolen from him and he did the very thing he thought he never would. He ran and has never stopped even to this day, but he'll be damned if he will let the same fate befall her.

Funny how help will come in unexpected ways. It never ceases to amaze him. Already he has set her escape in motion yet it is Cooper that will guide her last steps to freedom. The exact thought goes through Liz's mind as the lights go out and an agent is there to assist her.  _Reddington sent me._ Nothing surprises her anymore, least of all Raymond having an asset buried deep within the FBI.

However, it isn't Red that calls her on the phone the agent places in her hand, but Cooper. Unexpected to say the least as is Ressler's decision to look the other way and let her pass. She has no doubt he will regret it but there is little time to think of the strange mode of her escape before she is on the street and running toward the Mercedes.

"Dembe, Go!"

As the car speeds away, Red alternates from looking behind, watching for a pursuit and forward to assess their progress. She already knows he is mapping out the city streets in his mind, moves and countermoves that if need be could be put into play in a moment's notice. All the while his hand rests over her forearm as if she might drift off and he fears losing her again. She takes comfort in the simple gesture and leaves them to it.

Her eyes close as the nausea descends, the dizziness from her flight and the realization she just left the Post Office with accusations of murder and treason following her.

_You have no idea the enemies you've made._

The Director's words come back to her and now with her life and career in ruins she realizes how right he was. Not that it would have changed her decision to force them into sparing Raymond's life but she can't deny the overwhelming sense of trepidation that constricts her breathing thinking of what may be in store for them.

"Lizzy, we're here."

She looks around and realizes they've arrived at the dilapidated mansion that is still being used as their current command center. Dembe is nowhere in sight and she wonders how long she sat there in a daze as her life fell around her. There is the slightest pressure from his hand and with a sigh she scoots over to follow him out of his side of the car. Waits as he links his arm through hers and lets him guide their steps.

Once inside, she naturally turns left but with a shake of his head, he murmurs, "Not yet, Lizzy. Harold is waiting for us in the sitting room."

"Well, that's something I never thought you'd say."

Has everything in her life turned upside down? She is now the criminal hunted by the task force while the Assistant Director of the FBI is now aiding and abetting one of the most wanted.

 _Is this how it happened,_ she thinks as he opens a door to the right revealing the sleeping figure of Mr. Brimley stretched out on a sofa.

The naval intelligence officer turned into a traitor. Is this the pain he felt at the moment of impact all those years ago?

Another door leads to a small study where Leonard is still at work deciphering the Fulcrum and before he can speak it is closed with a snap and they continue on.

It is also not in his nature to run, but that is exactly what he did and her mind cannot grasp the wake of destruction stretched out behind them.

"This will have to do," he mutters, as he pulls her into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door.

"Uh, Raymond—"

But he doesn't speak, simply sets his fedora on the counter and takes her face in his hands. Searching her features as his thumb gently strokes across her cheek, as if he could track the fissures their attack has caused. Looking for a trace of the virus that brought death to her touch.

"I'm okay."

Is she trying to convince him or herself she does not know. Instinctively she reaches out to hold onto his jacket fearing her knees will buckle at any moment.

Who did he hold onto when everything was taken from him?

She is reeling and the dizziness returns in full force. Somehow he must sense it as his arms move around her and she does the same. Closing her eyes, she wills herself to remain standing, to not crumple under the suffocating anxiety that is building.

"I've got you."

Again she wonders if his words are for her or himself, but of course it is what they both need. A moment of peace in the midst of so much peril.

"I'm okay," she mumbles into his chest. Perhaps if she repeats it often enough it will begin to seem true.

He pulls back to look into her eyes and appears anything but convinced. "Lizzy, after everything they have done, you still don't know what they're capable of. You cannot fight them alone."

She does know. With all the pain etched into his being staring back at her, she is fully aware of the depth of their treachery. Not because of what she has experienced in the last twenty four hours, not because of the shooting or her confrontation with the Director. It is there in the abject fear that makes him hold onto her, not wanting to lose her as he once lost everything precious to him. She understands it as clearly as if he were able to speak the words out loud.

"What did they do to you?" she whispers and seeing his confusion, tries again. "Tell me what happened."

He won't or can't and certainly not here of all places. A shake of his head and more sorrow to add to what is already there is his answer.

"Harold is waiting. We need to determine our next step."

When he moves toward the door, he is stopped by her voice behind him.

"Hey," and turns back to find her hand reaching out for his.

She had once told him that he did not have to tell her of the past, not at that moment at least. Drawing a slow steady breath she tamps down her frustration over his silence. Soon he won't have a choice and they both know it, but this is more important. To not lose each other in the midst of battle.

He takes her hand and they walk out together and straight into Mr. Kaplan coming down the hallway.

Unflappable as always with only the briefest hesitation at seeing them exit the bathroom hand in hand. "Raymond. Elizabeth."

Apparently nothing more needs to be said on the subject and she moves off to the back of the house.

There is too much bearing down on them to laugh at the absurdity of the moment but there is time to smile as they stand there holding on, stealing a few extra seconds together.

* * *

This is not what he had in mind.

_We need to pull the security tapes at Union Station. If we can find footage of Karakurt maybe we can prove they infected me._

He wishes there was another way but he must make the final arrangements to release the Fulcrum to the press. That is their only hope of keeping the Cabal's attack in check and there is no time to waste.

_I'll meet you back here after you get the tapes._

_What are you doing?_

_I have an appointment. This is a war that must be fought on many fronts._

With Harold looking on there is not much they can do or say and he can only offer a simple  _be safe_ with all the hope it implies before walking out the door.

But if she thought it would be as simple as proving Karakurt infected her with the virus she is soon proven wrong. One look at the footage reveals it was the maker of the virus and not the assassin who ambushed her. Yet another hurdle in front of her and without her resources at the task force to aid her she sees no way of locating his current whereabouts.

Unless…

Velov. The CI used by the CIA team killed in the bombing. The one she had intended to speak with regarding Katarina Rostova until the murder of Senator Hawkins occurred. However, minutes into their conversation she realizes someone got to him first and that someone is in all likelihood Raymond. His hesitancy that she is there regarding Katarina, the assertions about what he  _can't_  say. What he has been told  _not_  to say more like and there is only one person who would go to such lengths.

She barely gives the intel regarding the virus maker a thought as the anger flares again. No, she doesn't want them to end up broken in the coming war with the Cabal but neither can she tolerate this subterfuge.

_You got to him._

_I retained his services._

_In exchange for his silence about my mother._

_Harold told me it was the virologist, Andropov, that infected you._

His diversion tactics will not work, not this time. It is the unknown that makes her lash back. Makes her pace the rooms like the caged animal she truly feels she is at that moment and how sickeningly familiar it seems to her recalling how many lies and manipulations surrounded her in the brownstone.

It doesn't matter that she knows there is no comparison, that Raymond is protecting her in some way. Combined with the actions of the Cabal it is yet more proof of how she has no control over her past or her future.

"I keep waiting to see if we can ever get beyond all the secrecy, but I wonder if you are really capable of that."

"I'm a sin eater. I absorb the misdeeds of others, darkening my soul to keep theirs' pure.  _That_ is what I'm capable of."

"What sin of mine could you possibly have absorbed?" she asks, attempting to understand his meaning.

His expression shutters closed in an instant and she cannot find it within herself to reach her hand out. Not this time. She walks out intent on following the lead regarding the virologist on her own.

Their thoughts will return to this moment many times. If he had followed or she had turned back would it have made a difference but in the end they were on a collision course they could not avoid.

* * *

He had said she really had no concept what the Cabal was capable of even after all she had seen and one look at Cooper proves the point. Shattered is the only word that comes to mind.

A fabricated illness, test results, the very diagnosis that has haunted him for a year and it was all an elaborate deception. And already put in place when he was attacked on Berlin's orders. My god, how long have they been lying in wait for each of them? No, she had not thought anything like this was possible.

Perhaps it is a mark of their integrity that they thought they could reason with the likes of Connolly or simple naiveté. A final valiant effort that brought them to the banquet hall with their evidence from the security tapes and Cooper's physician.

_You got a lot of chutzpah coming here._

She steps from around the corner and once again comes face to face with the Attorney General. Only now they are not in the confines of the Post Office and she without a card to play.

_I wouldn't call your security. Not until you hear what we have to say._

_We have the tapes. Recordings that prove you blackmailed Dr. Levin into falsifying my medical records._

_So here's what you're going to do. You're going to make this go away, all of it. You're going to exonerate me by prosecuting Karakurt, the real killer of those fourteen agents and Senator Hawkins. You're going to reinstate Agent Cooper and you're going to convey to the Director that he is not to touch Raymond Reddington._

They tried. It may be cold comfort in the days to come but at least they can say that much. However the tentacles of the Cabal are too far reaching. The bureau, every level of government, the judiciary. The list goes on and on and the fear reaches deep within her as Connelly lays out their plan.

_You're going to prison, Agent Keen. Donald Ressler, his little oxy addiction will get him drummed out of the bureau. Samar Navabi will be extradited to Iran where she will stand trial for the murder of one of their top nuclear scientists._

She feels herself spinning, braces against the onslaught of threats knowing the worst is yet to come.

_Charlene, even Agent Mojtabai. We have a little something in mind for all of you…._

The nausea has returned and begins to swirl in the pit of her stomach and she swallows the bile rising in her throat. And still there is more. One final threat that slices through her.

_...including treason charges and the death penalty for Reddington._

There is a buzzing in her ears as the fear explodes around her, anger and desperation that they are powerless to halt what has been put in motion. The image of Raymond apprehended, returned to a blacksite only this time without an immunity deal to protect him clouds her vision. Without the blacklist to make him a useful asset, with only certain death waiting for him and she will never know when it occurs. They will lock her away and she will never know.

Without a second thought, she draws her weapon and trains it on the enemy as the buzzing grows louder, drowning out Cooper's voice.

_Agent Keen, you do this, you become everything they say you are._

Cooper talking to her but he seems so far away. As if she is underwater, sinking with the pressure building every second.

_Elizabeth….the agent you were before all of this, you do this and she's gone._

She's falling and there is no stopping it. It started the day she walked down those steps as he waited for her in the box. The day he surrendered and her life took a different path although she did not know the full extent of it. There is still no way to know but she won't let them take him.

The hammer falls and a moment later Connelly does the same and once again she is dragged back to that house. The one of her childhood nightmare filled with smoke and flame. The shouting that she doesn't understand but the tangled memories come into focus and she recalls watching her parents struggle violently but for what she has no idea. Only that he is hurting her and without knowing how it came to be in her hands, she points even though she cannot possibly understand what would follow. The force knocks her back as the sound echoes all around. Her father falling at her feet as the terror erupts.

If he would only move but there is nothing else and with a blink she is once again staring down at the lifeless form of the Attorney General. The clatter of her weapon hitting the tile is intolerably loud as Cooper urges her to run and she does just that. Has no memory of the intervening blocks but finally comes back to herself when she spots a phone that she swipes from a passerby.

There is only one thought right now but first….

_Ressler, listen to me. Harold Cooper had nothing to do with this._

She hangs up after only a few seconds. What use is there when they are no longer on the same side of the law?

There is only one other call to make.

 _Lizzy_.

Only one voice she wants to hear.

_Where are you?_

Only one.

_I'm going to call you back in two minutes with an address. I need you to get there. I'm going to get you out._

* * *

Thank god she is there when the car pulls to the curb. He had resisted the urge to call her back but there she is on the bench where he told her to wait. So still and wrapped up within herself it is difficult to take his eyes from her as he turns to say goodbye to Dembe.

All of his questions seem to fade away. He can't think of a single one as he walks toward her attempting to decipher her expression, until her words halt his steps and he hears what he has feared would happen all these years.

_I remember. I remember everything._

_Remember what?_

What a foolish question since he already knows the answer. One last hope that the dread seeping into him is not for this terrible thing.

_The night of the fire, I know what happened and I understand why you didn't want me to find out._

Is there no end to the anguish of that night?

_When I pulled the trigger, when I shot Connolly it came back to me. I could hear them arguing, he was hurting her. And I know why my father died that night. I shot him. That's why you blocked my memory. Not to protect yourself, but to protect me._

_Yeah._

The simple word affirming what she now understands. The reason for his secrecy. The need to shield her from the worst possible memories.

He sits and rocks back and forth a time or two, looking away as she studies him. Seeing the emotion he is desperately trying to control.

_You're my sin eater._

_Tried to be. But I failed._

She continues watching him, waiting for him to meet her eye but not yet. Not yet. Just his nervous movements as he rubs his hand down his thigh and then to hers and finally he takes her hand.

Only a second or two passes before the silver van pulls to a stop in front of them.

"This is us," he says and they rise, leaving her life behind them as they enter his.

There is comfort in his touch. His hand at her back as they take the first steps of this unfathomable journey. They are moving through the city streets but she doesn't give the route a thought, simply watches him as he once again looks behind, then forward, behind again. Always planning, always on guard.

"He said you would be given the death penalty," she says quietly, halting his movements.

Though the guilt and anguish washes over them, she needs to tell it. To make him understand there is reason in all this chaos.

"I couldn't let that happen."

"Lizzy, I'm not—"

"No, don't say it," she interrupts quickly, not able to hear what she should never have done, not for him. Because he doesn't deserve it and she simply will not listen to it.

 _This is us,_  she thinks.

Hunted.

As the van merges into traffic moving them further and further from the epicenter.

Damaged.

As the ghosts from their past go with them until they can finally be put to rest.

But at least they are here. From a fire to the predator that invaded her life. Her mind torn apart by Braxton to Raymond's blood spilling out into the street. They have survived this far for one simple reason.

"This is us. We protect each other."

Right or wrong, it is the foundation of everything they have. What can he say as the enormity of her words reach deep within to the darkness and calms his soul.

They forget about the dangers for a moment as her head drops to his shoulder and he takes her hand, thankful they haven't lost each other in the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this rewatch fic with the on the run fun as the main temptation so I'm definitely excited for this last portion of their journey. From the beginning I really only had one thought in mind. That Red and Lizzy would arrive at the same place in the big feels department by the time they took off in the silver van. That they would be together in spite of the Cabal and the manhunt and not because of it. Glad to see they cooperated.


	30. Most Wanted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline 3.1
> 
> Thanks for reading and hope you enjoy!

_Blood on the rise, it's following me_  
_Think about the break of day_  
_She came and then she drove away  
_ _Sunlight in her hair_

* * *

It's strange the memory that will first come forward when they look back on this longest of days. The virus and her escape from the Post Office, the killing of Connelly, these images will invariably arrive. The chaos of their flight will cause a quickening of the pulse even then, but that is always after.

It is to the silver van where their minds return. The few seconds her head rested on his shoulder and he can feel the pressure of it still. The faint sound of  _Rocket Man_  playing on the radio that seemed to make the sirens fade away before the police scanner finally interrupted. Their hands linked together. Tight. Tighter. Don't let go.

_This is us. We protect each other._

Like a promise they had no way of knowing would endure what was to come.

* * *

_All units, be advised. Possible sighting, eyewitness report. Alleged suspects seen entering a silver van…_

Too much to hope they could have made it into the relative safety of the van without being observed, but one thing Raymond has learned in his years on the run, there are eyes and ears everywhere.

"It'll be fine," he says grimly, already thinking of the countless steps they must make in perfect sequence to assure their escape but most importantly her safety.

"They'll set up a perimeter. Capitol Police, NPDC. We'll never make it out of the city."

"No, that's why we're not going to even try."

"But—"

The scanner erupts again with their license plate information and it is only a matter of time now as the urgency begins to build. If they are taken by the police, The Cabal will not be far behind. They'll be separated and isn't that what made her pull the trigger in the first place? Knowing what would follow and the certainty they will make sure Raymond Reddington is dealt with once and for all.

"Here, you'll need to put this on."

At last he lets go of her hand only to drop a bulletproof vest in her lap and she supposes The Cabal would make sure she is dealt with as well.

Taking a breath, she refocuses on the present. "Okay, what now?"

"Now we change."

With that he begins removing his jacket and loosening his tie. Reaching down he removes a stack of neatly folded garments from the duffel bag at his feet and piles them on top of the kevlar vest still resting in her lap.

"What, here?" There's hardly room to turn around much less attempt to shimmy her way into a...police uniform by the looks of it. After a quick glance at the labels she asks with surprise, "But these are my size. How did you do that?"

His vest has just sailed into the back compartment of the van but he stops a moment to answer, "I didn't, actually. You can thank Mr.—"

"Kaplan. Of course. A police uniform?"

"If we can't beat them, we might as well join them, Lizzy."

He's gazing at her, waiting to make sure she is with him and doesn't proceed with the task at hand until he sees her nod. "Manny, eyes forward."

She hears a mumbled  _you got it, boss_  from the driver and can't help smiling. Always the gentleman no matter the occasion and with a shake of her head she begins.

Under different circumstances the experience would most certainly have been….well, this is hardly the moment to think of other more enjoyable circumstances but in the present cramped conditions of the small van it is a series of hits and near misses. Her elbow colliding with his ribs and him pushing her to the far reaches of her side of the bench seat.

"Can we get a bigger van next time," only to hear the absurdity of her words followed by his chuckle.

He leans even more toward her side and she soon finds herself smashed completely against the door as he finally gets his pants off. "I assure you this is the perfect size van."

"Uh huh," she mumbles, realizing she's no longer changing but watching his battle with all those layers. What a hell of a time to be getting distracted.

"Overpass in one mile, boss," Manny calls out and her distraction isn't helped one bit when Raymond immediately sits up and slides over to throw an arm across her.

"Lizzy, hang on. This is going to get bumpy."

He's staring determinedly ahead and attempting to ignore the blatant fact they are both snuggled quite close and very much down to their underwear.

"Bumpy? Just what is about to happen?" She leans over, craning her neck to see what is headed their way.

"There's no time to explain. Trust me and hang on."

She glances back but he won't meet her eye so with a shrug she settles back against his side and holds onto his arm pressing into her chest. Nothing looks out of the ordinary and she can't imagine what is about to happen until they pass under the bridge and Manny guns the van to top speed toward a truck directly ahead. There is hardly time for her small squeak of surprise before the tires line up with amazing precision and they drive directly onto the ramps extended toward the ground.

By the time the van lurches to a stop as the emergency brake engages, they have been bounced to the opposite end of the bench seat still holding on to one another.

"You okay?" he asks not letting go.

"I am. That was...ingenious." No other word for it as they sail out into the sunlight well-hidden in a vehicle transport truck which should buy them a little time at least. "Raymond?"

"Hmmm."

"You can let go now. I assume we'll need clothes when we get where we're going."

She swears there is a snicker from the driver's seat as Raymond clears his throat. "Yes, of course. Hurry, Lizzy, we have about five minutes."

There will be occasion much later to contemplate these events, her actions, the fears that forced her hand when she faced Connelly. The memories of the night of the fire and her life that seems nothing short of shattered. Yet, as they scramble to finish dressing in the next few minutes, she finds herself strangely detached. Separated from the trauma of what has been done to her by the fierce need to protect him, both of them. To at least see them through this first day.

* * *

"The sister is going to be trouble."

"Yes, she may at that."

"I don't like it," she murmurs with a look toward the ceiling as if all hell could come crashing down on them at any moment.

He can't say he likes it anymore than she does but for the time being they must see how it plays out. With the city crawling with every branch of law enforcement intent on finding them it is imperative they stay off the streets. This hidden room under the bar was to be their hideout until the Capitol goes back to normal operation allowing them to travel. His associate he would trust with their lives but that the need for this safe room coincides with his sister's unplanned arrival is a variable that could spell disaster.

Seeing Lizzy's repeated look toward the room above, he attempts to relax not wanting to worry her more, but there really is nothing he can do to lessen her concern. Not with the wine he pours or the food he sets out that she can't seem to touch. Certainly not by the news coverage they eventually watch out of necessity.

It is when the Director comes forward from obscurity to give a news conference that she realizes Raymond has released the contents of the Fulcrum to the press. But if they thought it would gain them the advantage, they are soon proved wrong.

_Today, the president has agreed to let me speak openly to you that I may address the irresponsible accusations that not only seek to defame me, but are harmful to our national security. They are based upon information provided by Raymond Reddington, a traitor to our country and a fugitive who is helping ex-FBI Agent Elizabeth Keen avoid arrest. The daughter of a notorious KGB spy, Keen is a wanted terrorist….._

She's not sure what is more painful. The implication that she is a terrorist or hearing herself referred to as  _ex-FBI._ The smallest fear immediately follows. At what point could she indeed feel herself more the criminal and less the agent?

The urge to leave this safe room bears down on her. To run, somehow get them out of the city, to be doing something, anything to wipe that smug expression off the Director's face. To not be destroyed under the weight of his lies. Logically she knows this is the best plan. This waiting game until they can slip out of DC but how can Raymond lie there telling her a story of taking shelter in a root cellar while a monsoon raged overhead. The serenity he unexpectedly found there in the waiting.

The thought of finding such a feeling in their present circumstances is unimaginable.

_You have every right to be afraid. Just don't let it control you. You're in a storm, Lizzy. You need to find the peace below the winds._

No peace to be found as the voices grow louder overhead and it is just as they imagined. The sister was bound to be trouble and they can't really blame her for calling the FBI tip line. It is only too easy to believe the news stories over the criminals hiding under the floor.

_Within seconds, agents are going to breech this building. They're going to want to speak to you because you called in the tip. Get rid of them or your brother dies._

They leave the threat hanging there for her to think about and retreat back downstairs.

"Raymond, you're not going to-"

Her question is cut off by the sound of a tactical unit entering the building.

"It's okay, Lizzy," he murmurs and they pause to listen to the commotion overhead.

"Red, I'm sorry. Her husband was a soldier."

"I do understand as I'm sure you will understand what I have to do now."

At the other man's nod, he takes a step forward and knocks the man unconscious to the ground at their feet.

"Doubtful he'll be able to convince them he wasn't aiding and abetting but the bump on the head may help his case. Let's go."

Surely he doesn't mean back up and she looks around in confusion until she sees the grate in the wall.

"You're joking?"

He has the audacity to grin at her as he takes her elbow. "Where's your sense of adventure? It's an old bootlegger tunnel that comes out several blocks from here under a bodega. I know the owner and we'll be able to pick up a few supplies since we're going to have to do something about your appearance."

"What do you mean," but she stops, realizing he is correct. For starters her hair will have to be colored or cut and quickly. Anything to give them the advantage.

"Let's continue the discussion en route, Lizzy. I'm sure Donald isn't far behind."

They scurry into the tunnel and after replacing the grate, he pulls out a penlight and leads the way.

"I told you about the sister," she says with a poke in his back for emphasis. "We should have left immediately."

His sigh is heavy in the darkness. "Yes I know but the thought of a week in the old speakeasy room was very tempting. The cops bumbling about overhead while the wine flowed below. I thought perhaps Lyle would convince her…..ah well, it was not to be."

He feels her hand brush slightly down his back in the same area she had poked him as if acknowledging the pleasant image he evoked. They continue on a minute or so in silence until he suddenly stops short and she walks directly into him.

"Hey, can you give me a warning?"

He mumbles  _my apologies_ but doesn't proceed until a few moments later when they veer off to the right. "There's a fork here and it's been years since I've been down in this thing."

The tunnel has widened and they begin moving at a faster pace but after stumbling a few times in the dimness, she finally reaches for the belt at his waistband to have something to hold onto.

"You alright?"

"Just trying not to fall on my face."

"We're almost there."

Within a few steps they are ascending a narrow staircase that leads straight into the bodega's stockroom. Ignoring the surprised look of an employee, they proceed to an office where Raymond greets the owner like an old friend. And for his part, there isn't the least appearance of shock seeing the two fugitives burst into his office dressed as police officers.

They make a hasty departure declining an offer to stay for lunch and Lizzy is once again amazed at Raymond's extensive network of friends.

"Is there anyone you can't charm?" she asks suddenly, her amusement evident.

"I beg your pardon."

They've made their way out into the store and she drops her voice, "You know what I mean."

"Lizzy, there are a whole host of people. Lyle's sister for starters. Ressler who could be halfway through the tunnel by now. My ex-wife—"

"Okay, okay I get your point. Now I'm going to find the hair dye and I'll meet you at the front."

She has just reached the end of the aisle when he calls to her, "Do I get a vote in the color selection?"

"Absolutely not," and his chuckle follows her around the corner.

* * *

They don't speak for several blocks. Simply step out onto the sidewalk, both instinctively turning left away from the bar that is currently being overrun by the FBI. Thankfully no one seems to pay them any attention, not with the constant news coverage of the city lockdown following the shooting of the Attorney General.

"Where are we going?" she asks at last.

"Well, I'm not…"

He trails off and they move near a parking meter to avoid drawing further attention.

"Do you have another safehouse in mind?"

She finds his hesitation surprising if not a little alarming given their present circumstances. "Raymond?"

"Nothing nearby and getting off the street is imperative. A motel might do but two cops renting a room isn't exactly inconspicuous. Or perhaps—"

"I have an idea."

She begins walking again and he has no choice but to follow. "Lizzy, what are you up to?"

"Just keep a look out, okay."

Two blocks later they round a corner to the restaurant she recalls, the one with the valet parking. Within seconds she has picked the lock to the key box and Red has caught onto the plan. Reaching toward a nondescript set of keys, he is immediately overruled by the shake of her head and a decisive  _no_.

"Seems a bit indiscreet," he mutters when she makes her selection. After all, the point is for them to  _not_  get caught.

"Porsche Carrera. Two seater suggests no family. Price tag indicates he's wealthy enough to live alone. Maybe a girlfriend. If he's here, it's likely his apartment is empty. What?" she asks turning to find him grinning at her.

"Nothing."

"What?" when he refuses to stop.

"Just you."

God, that he can make her belly turn a flip in the middle of the street as they steal a car. When he holds out his hand for the key, she can't help laughing out loud. "Not on your life. I'm driving."

Indeed she is and he is only too happy to sit back and let her. He has survived for years making sure to always have a backup plan or strategizing a new one at a moment's notice but there are occasions such as a frenzied manhunt that make it difficult to think. All this time he has only thought of being with  _her_ , protecting  _her_  but it is a reminder that she does the same. Always safeguarding one another.

Within the half hour they have arrived at the owner's high-rise, talked their way past a rather bored doorman and entered the empty apartment. Lizzy wastes no time and heads toward the hall looking for a bathroom.

"I need to get this stuff on my hair as soon as possible."

"Alright, I'll look around and then check the news."

She returns in no time at all. Couldn't put the solution in her hair fast enough finding it difficult to stay in there with only herself for company. A stranger staring back at her that has nothing to do with the color of her hair but how fast she seems to disconnect from herself, already feeling far from the operative that seized the opportunity to borrow this apartment. The same sense of unease she had in the hidden room descended. Wanting to be out of there before her mind had a chance to think of all that has happened. Afraid of what will come to her in the stillness and quiet. At last she turned her back to the mirror as she removed the shirt signifying one side of the law knowing she is most definitely on the other. She will just have to wear the t-shirt underneath as she has no intention of putting it back on.

He's in the kitchen rummaging around the refrigerator when she slips into the room and hops up on the counter to sit.

"Not much here I'm afraid. There's cereal but no milk or cheese if you'd like that."

"No, I couldn't possibly."

Something in her voice makes him turn. Something in her expression makes him rise and go to her. Something in the way she is holding onto the counter so tightly has him wrapping his arms around her and drawing her in until he feels her body relax against him.

"We're going to get through this," he murmurs and feels the nod of her head.

Waiting until she is ready, he finally hears her mumble something into his chest. "What was that?'

She pulls back and he's relieved to see the small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "I said you're going to get this stuff all over you."

"Not with this," he chuckles, reaching up to tug at the shower cap covering her hair.

"Let's just hope Porsche Carrera doesn't return anytime soon so I don't have to leave with this still on my head."

"You're beautiful," which makes her roll her eyes. "Are you going to tell me what color—"

"No I'm not, you can wait and see."

"Then can I tempt you with some dry cereal or cheese without crackers?" His concern is barely masked behind the teasing tone, knowing she hasn't eaten or rested in lord knows when.

But she is fighting for control, has been since this whole ordeal began and the thought makes her stomach turn. "I can't," she whispers. "Not yet."

"Lizzy, you need—"

"I have what I need."

In one fluid motion she brings her arms around his neck and wrapping her legs around him, moves to the edge of the counter. She kisses him fiercely, deeply, closer until he is all but supporting her weight.

"Elizabeth," he breathes when they break apart.

"I need to feel something that's real."

"This is real. You're still the same…"

 _Person_.

He doesn't finish. He doesn't have to. It isn't true and they both know it. Just as he was never the same after he lost everything in his life. Some lines can't be crossed back over.

Her legs drop to the ground and she runs her hands down his arms, still needing to feel him but knowing they are running out of time. "I'm okay. Besides I have to get this ridiculous thing off my head," she finishes with a glance toward the shower cap.

"I like it. Make sure to bring it along."

She's laughing when she pushes him away but he stops her at the door. "We need to change from the uniforms. I have more clothes for you."

They walk back to the living room where he left the duffel bag and she watches in amusement as he takes out a tan jacket, shirt and jeans that he tosses on the back of the chair. A ball cap follows and at last a stack of neatly folded clothes that he hands over to her.

"There's a few things to choose from, I believe." When she takes the clothes and continues watching him he asks, "What?"

"I'm just waiting for you to pull a hatrack and lamp out of there next."

"Very funny. You want help with the goop?"

"Hmmm now there's an idea," but when he takes a step she holds up a hand. "Someday maybe but today you can go change and get ready to leave."

"Someday. I'll take someday," he answers with a grin.

She leaves with a shake of her head and he does as she suggested. Changes clothes and makes sure the apartment is in order for when they leave. With any luck the owner will never know they were there.

Taking a burner phone from the bag he dials a number and murmurs a code word that lets the other party know they are safe followed by  _going to the farm_  to indicate their next stop. They will need travel and quickly which is impossible for him to arrange in their present situation.

He listens a moment and then says quietly, "I don't like it. Neither will she."

Two transport vehicles instead of one. No, he doesn't like it one bit. Had never counted on the need to divide and conquer even though he can see the benefit of the plan and finally agrees. "Have them ready within the hour, Kate. I'll let you know when it's time."

Hearing the hair dryer shut off, he calls out, "Looks like we'll be leaving the city after all."

"You said the plan was to wait. That it was impossible to cross the perimeter."

"Waiting was an option when we had somewhere to wait. Now we don't. We need to contact the Troll Farmer."

But how to tell her they will leave the city center separately?

"I don't know who that is."

"The Troll Farmer is—" He glances up as her footsteps come down the hall and catches her reflection in the mirror. Whatever he would have said completely leaves his mind as he turns to take in the transformation.

"What do you think?" she asks and is surprised how out of breath she sounds.

There are few times Raymond Reddington is struck speechless but this is decidedly one of those rare occasions. His reaction and rather dramatic swallow sends a little thrill through her she must admit.

"So the blonde was the way to go then?"

"It'll do," he says softly, walking toward her.

"I barely recognize myself. Fitting I suppose."

He studies her a moment before tucking a strand behind her ear. "You're still  _Elizabeth_  to me."

The sound of the door opening causes him to whip around gun drawn on a very startled housekeeper. It never crosses her mind that he would hurt her. That he would be anything less than charming and kind as he took her cell phone and locked her in the bathroom, asking Lizzy if she would mind getting a bottled water from the kitchen. There was only the fleeting image of the fate that awaited the Harbormaster when another man found himself in a similar situation and made a very different choice.

They are in the elevator when she reaches for his hand wishing there was time to tell him how she feels. If there were words enough but there simply aren't. Not today but hopefully someday.

"The Troll Farmer, huh? Don't you know any criminals with normal names?"

He laughs and brings her hand to his lips, placing a kiss there before they step outside.

* * *

There is no opportunity to tell her about the plan until she joins him on the sofa. After they had barged into the brownstone where the social media and information manipulator is currently headquartered. After they had whisked Lizzy off for pictures that will go on her new set of ID cards. When they had begun a trail of false reports and sightings to confuse the authorities for their planned escape.

In the end, he never had to say the words.

"Mr. Reddington the vans are a block away. It's time."

She understands immediately. " _Vans_? Why are we separating?"

"In the hopes that one of us will make it out to clear your name."

"But I—"

"Okay, we're as ready as we'll ever be. Either you'll be free within the hour or you'll be arrested and tried for treason."

They are interrupted by the Troll himself and Raymond is reminded what an annoying little pissant he is at times. They move quickly to the street in order for the vans to stop only momentarily and there is only a second for a brush of their hands as he climbs into his transport. She continues down the sidewalk to her own, both hoping like hell they reach the rendezvous point.

When the driver opens the hatch where Liz is hiding as they attempt to navigate the traffic jam, she knows it won't happen. It will either be Mr. Kaplan telling her of Raymond's capture or him warning her of her own impending arrest.

"Lizzy, they know. I made it through but you won't. You have to turn back now."

The briefest relief that he is safe until his words reach her.

"And go where?"

She lurches to the side as the driver makes a sharp turn keeping them moving down a series of side streets.

"Listen to me. You can do this. Find a place to hide."

"I can't." She is losing control, moving too fast. Moving away from him and why did they go along with this plan to begin with?

"You will. You survive when those around you fall."

"Raymond," she whispers so low he barely hears.

"They have not destroyed you, Elizabeth. You must do this."

A place to hide where they cannot reach her? It seems impossible with sirens wailing in every direction. She can think of only one location in all of this damn city where there is the smallest chance The Cabal could not harm her.

"2650 Wisconsin Avenue," she calls to the driver and is at least grateful her voice is working with her throat closing in.

"Lizzy—"

"It's my only choice. Be safe, Raymond."

She hangs up with a wish that it will not be the last time. She runs toward the gate with the hope that this will be one border she can cross back over. The metal is cold against her cheek as the embassy soldiers handcuff her and perhaps one day this life of betrayal and lies will be in the past.

"My name is Masha Rostova. I'm a Russian agent. I work for the FSB and I'm seeking diplomatic immunity."

Not today but someday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will freely ignore any and all daddy or mommy baiting and replace it with flirting.


	31. Polaris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline 3.2
> 
> As always thanks for reading and commenting!

_Come to me now and rest your head_  
_For just five minutes  
_ _Everything is good_

* * *

_You all right?_

_No, I am not all right._

The answer was already there in her haunted expression before he asked the question. Before he saw the trembling in her body as she slid into the booth across from him. Even before she walked into the diner.

He would normally stand out of habit or some ingrained sense of propriety imparted to him by his father most likely, but really the impulse was too strong not to rise and meet her. Wishing they were anywhere but this crowded restaurant making it impossible to touch her.

Can it be less than a day from their separation as they attempted to escape the city and her eventual flight over the wall to the Russian Embassy? He can't blame her for thinking asylum could be sought, brief though it would be trading off the reputation of her mother's name but she did not know. How could she when he had yet to tell her. He could name a hundred excuses for why he hasn't told the tale and he curses every one of them.

Less than a day.

But the night that followed seemed to stretch for years. How simple it was to cross back inside the perimeter of the city center. With law enforcement's attention now focused on the embassy he was able to move freely, meeting a contact, then another and then another. In no time at all he was slipping into the suite at The Ritz. Rarely do the individuals he intends to blackmail make it quite this easy but the Russian ambassador in the midst of a late afternoon tryst with the Senator's wife was really too convenient considering the time crunch he found himself in.

Of all the places he could have imagined passing the first night with Lizzy as a fugitive he would never have foreseen the sleepless one they endured. Making use of the suite now vacated by the secret lovers he had paced the room, sat in the armchair coordinating events in his mind only to rise and pace again. Moves and countermoves. That is all his life seems made of.

The reports he had insisted on came promptly at the turn of every hour. The ambassador calling his burner with a few whispered words each time. She has insisted on speaking with the Chief Intelligence Officer and declared herself a deep cover operative. No decision would be made this evening. They needed time to contact Moscow, weigh their options and the diplomatic repercussions.

The eight o'clock report noted her move to a holding cell and if he thought that would bring a measure of comfort he was mistaken. Nine o'clock and her refusal of food. Eleven o'clock and her continuous pacing of the cell. He imagined their steps moving in sync and he wished more than anything he could have reached her. The need to hold her close until her mind and body would allow her to rest is an ache with no relief.

On and on it went through the night until she had slid down a wall to sit, wrapping her arms around herself and he had collapsed in the chair, exhausted and weighed down by the deepest remorse. The deepest anger that he had let things spin this far out of control.

Perhaps that's why he can't let it go. Can't ignore the need to intercede on behalf of the woman in the next booth. When he should be doing anything but drawing attention to himself he pulls the gun and issues the threat to this lowlife. He almost wishes the man wouldn't back down so intensely does the anger burn, heightening the need to lash out at something, anything. However, the threat does its job and he feels a little more in control as he resumes his seat across from Lizzy.

It is her turn to ask the question.

"Are you all right?"

He takes a moment to answer, watches her as she leans across the table with only concern for him in her features. How little he deserves it but there is no denying...

"I am, Lizzy. Now that you're here, I am indeed. So how about we order you some coffee and perhaps a little breakfast. It's going to be a long day."

* * *

She is dizzy.

Closing her eyes, she takes a few steadying sips of coffee and hopes the jolt of caffeine will be enough to keep her on her feet. She can barely remember the last time her mind was quiet, when the whirring of images flying past didn't make the world beneath her tilt. Before the shooting? No further back than that. The virus or the truck bomb that killed all those CIA agents. What came before? Another shooting with her hands covered in Raymond's blood and when is it all going to end?

"Elizabeth."

He breaks into her thoughts and she opens her eyes to the worry that is a constant now, from both of them.

"We need to talk about what is going to happen."

Oh god, she needs a minute, just one minute to get herself together. After the night she spent and Ressler pulling the gun on her transport vehicle this morning, the car crash that followed when he ran them off the road. It is all too much. Nevermind that he wasn't actually trying to kill her as she originally thought but attempting to stop The Cabal from disposing of her en route to Moscow. Without the call from Raymond she could be dead even now and it is a further reminder that her life at the FBI is far behind her.

"I didn't know where else to go," she says suddenly, wanting him to understand her escape to the Russian embassy.

"I know that."

"I thought using my mother's name would at least protect me to a degree until I could convince them of The Cabal, that Karakurt has been turned, but they only-"

He reaches across to place a hand on hers. "Lizzy, we can talk about it later. You don't have to-"

She continues as if his words don't register, "But the intelligence chief just laughed. Actually laughed, asking me why I thought the daughter of Katarina Rostova, a traitor, would matter to them. Do you know what he meant by that?  _Daughter of a traitor_?"

Her words are like a knife. "Yes."

"I should never have gone there."

"There should never have been a need," he says grimly.

She sees it then. The guilt that he carries surfacing once more. One more thing that hurt her or could have hurt her and there is no room for her anger to flair. His suffering won't let it rise within her.

He says no more, nothing but the slightest shake of his head, the shrug of his shoulders. Resignation. If they were anywhere but this damn diner she is certain he would begin it and not stop until the whole sordid mess was laid bare for her. He won't tell her now, not here and not in her current state but it's coming and she wonders if she'll hold up under the weight of it as he has.

"I'll be right back," she whispers after squeezing his hand. All she can offer to let him know she is okay, that they are okay.

She escapes to the restroom not knowing where else to go and once again she is alone with the stranger staring back at her. The blonde hair still a shock as she leans over to splash some cold water over her face.

_Come on pull it together._

Parting words to herself and she leaves hoping she is able to do just that and walks out as the first patrol car pulls into the parking lot. The options for their escape are few but the back alley seems the obvious choice and she returns to the booth to let him know they need to move and now.

Is this what he was going to tell her, she wonders briefly as he takes the shotgun from his duffle bag of tricks.

"What are you-"

She doesn't finish as he passes her without a word and pulling her gun she follows, figuring they're in this together even though she hasn't a clue what  _this_  is all about at the moment. It happens with the greatest of speed. Shots fired outside, the doors locked and the address to the diner's patrons.

_Ladies and gentlemen, please remain calm and take your seats. I am terribly sorry for the inconvenience, but it appears we'll all be taking an extended lunch. However, if you remain calm and do exactly as I say, I promise you'll leave here with a rip-roaring story to tell your friends and family. Bon appétit._

As soon as he hops down from the chair where he delivered this astonishing speech she grabs his arm and yanks him toward her.

"Bon appétit?"

"Lizzy, I hate to interrupt a good meal and besides-"

"Raymond, I am in no mood. Would you mind explaining why we're knocking over a diner and not simply escaping out the back."

He gives her a small patient smile and she swears if he says something glib she won't be responsible for her actions. And why this should annoy the hell out of her and not his reticence in telling her about Katarina is beyond her understanding.

"It's simple really, I'm in need of my lawyer."

"Damn right you need a lawyer. You just shot up a cop car and took everyone hostage."

He smiles even more patiently and her grip on his arm tightens dangerously.

"Well besides that, we'll be needing his help with the Fulcrum and for a few other things later down the road. I thought I could wait for his parole hearing but as it is, we need him sooner rather than late.

Her sigh of exasperation is exceedingly loud considering the sirens approaching from outside and the murmuring of the patrons all around them.

"Your lawyer is in prison?"

"Now don't judge," he says still smiling but continues in a more serious tone. "Elizabeth, before you cut off the blood supply completely, I promise this is necessary. No one will get hurt and we'll be on our way a jiff."

She's simply too exhausted to argue and besides that what's done is done. "Tell me what I need to know."

"Well for starters, I'm very shortly going to be giving a list of demands to Ressler which just goes to show you, there's always a silver lining."

Whether it is the fatigue or the rising hysteria or both she can't stop the smile forming and gives him a shove as she lets go of his arm.

Reaching a hand up, he brushes a thumb across her cheek so quickly she wonders if anyone even saw.

"You look tired."

"I am," she returns quietly.

"Only a little while longer."

And just like he predicted it is Ressler that approaches the door a short time later.

_Come out before this gets bad._

_It's already gone bad and you're making it worse. Do what Reddington says before someone gets hurt._

_That won't happen and you know it._

Not much use trying to reason with him. He's far too FBI to understand the full scope of what has been brought about by The Cabal. She can see them outside at the command center. Ressler, Samar and even Aram. They might as well be in another world, playing by the rules of law and order without realizing they're already at war.

There is too much nervous energy for either of them to sit. She paces near the register as it offers her a glimpse of her former colleagues and her attention is caught between them and Raymond walking around, chatting with the diners and refilling coffee cups. Only he would be able to win over the very people he is currently holding against their will.

God, if they would only hurry up and bring the lawyer so they can get out of here…

The knock at the doors signals his arrival and she finds herself very curious as he enters. He is none too happy to be there and begins removing the wires the FBI planted throughout his clothing.

_Elizabeth, Marvin Gerard, Criminal attorney, not necessarily in that order._

There is the smallest shiver that runs up her back as this stranger's next words.

_Finally, I am in the presence of greatness. You're the one, You're the one who made him throw away his freedom._

Her eyes move to Raymond who scoffs at the words but there is so much they are not saying, she is sure of it. Something more than a client speaking to his attorney. Some friendship rooted there that prompted Raymond's confidence before his fateful stroll into FBI headquarters.

For her.

Always for her, spurred on by the guilt from Tom's betrayal, Berlin and the danger rising like a tidal wave. It was supposed to have ended, but it never does. There is always something more, some new peril to take the place of the last and it has happened again. The Cabal and the shooting putting an end to their freedom and dragging everyone including this hapless lawyer into this mess.

Had the room not begun to spin as it so often does these last days she would have noticed the danger. Had the fatigue not fogged her instincts she would not have left herself vulnerable to attack but the warning comes too late as the man Raymond had threatened lunges for her weapon and she is fighting with every ounce of strength left within her. Desperate to survive this ordeal, to get them out of there to someplace she can think and catch her breath, but he won't let go until she throws him to the ground. Finally her weapon is back in her hands as she takes aim while landing a viscous kick in the man's ribs.

"That's enough!"

She whirls around hearing Raymond's raised voice, but she is locked in motion, unable to loosen her grip as her heart pounds loudly in her ears. As the sweat on her brow instantly cools and she shivers again unsure what is happening or how to make her body relax so she can drop the weapon.

As confused as she is in that moment, there is no fear when he approaches her. She lets go of the gun instantly as his hand touches hers and he reaches out with the other to steady her, feeling the trembling that has returned. He watches as her thoughts seem to clear and her eyes take in the room around her.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," he calls out still looking at Elizabeth and only Elizabeth. "You were told no one would get hurt if you do exactly as I say. This is what occurs when you don't. "

Her gaze circles back to his as he continues quietly, "Marvin, there is a laptop at the end of the counter with a file already pulled up. Please be so kind as to begin a quick perusal and I'll join you presently."

He never takes his eyes from hers the entire time he is speaking and already she feels more in control, steadier as he guides their steps a few feet away and out of earshot.

"Raymond, I don't know what is wrong-"

"There is nothing wrong with you," he interrupts hastily.

Hasn't he told her this before? In the hull of a rusted ship when she made so many mistakes and couldn't put right a single one. The familiarity of it sickens her as the fallout continues from her shooting of the Attorney General with no way of knowing how much damage there is. She had wanted to protect him from The Cabal but she wonders if she isn't making matters worse, just as she did when she brought Tom to that boat.

"Elizabeth, look at me."

She blinks and forces her mind to focus.

"You're exhausted, nothing more. Now we have just a little longer until we leave so here is your weapon," and noting her hesitation, he repeats the words. "Here is your weapon. The safety is on. I trust you and I need you to do the same."

A little smile at her nod and she resists the urge to walk directly into his embrace and simply hang on, but as there is still the hostage situation at hand she supposes this will have to wait. She takes little interest in whatever Marvin is working on, figuring she will learn about it later. Listens as Raymond tells her how Marvin ended up disbarred and imprisoned and somehow the tragedy of his past doesn't shock her. Aren't they all broken in some way, all the people in his life that he would claim a friendship with? Dembe and even Mr. Kaplan. There is some hint at the damage underneath in all of them. Even herself and she realizes she is rubbing at the scar on her wrist, something she hasn't done in a very long time.

_Attention everyone, we're done here._

As quickly as it started it is over. Within minutes the patrons are shut into the cooler and they escape through the hidden money laundering operation below the diner as the FBI breaches the building overhead. She barely gives the stacks of cash a second glance as they move into a passageway that takes them quite a distance from the diner. Honestly only one thing surprises her as they wave goodbye to Marvin with a promise that they will be in touch.

"Raymond, did you actually talk Marvin's fiance into running off with him."

"I assure you she was more than willing to go. That law firm where she works is quite a bore."

"You really think he can help?"

"I do. We're not going to be able to fight our way out of this, Lizzy, we're going to have to think our way out. What?" he finally asks seeing her amused expression.

"I think you're a bit of a matchmaker."

He shifts his weight back and forth before replying, "Well it seemed the least I could do considering what I put the poor man through today."

"It's sweet and you don't need to explain, however, Marvin isn't the only one who's had a rough day. Where do we go from here?"

Linking his arm through hers, they proceed down the street to a car that will be parked and waiting for them on the next block. "How about we stow away. That sounds like fun."

"On a plane? I don't know about that."

His chuckle sounds so good and she thinks they could be going anywhere at all besides running from the law.

"Not a plane, Lizzy, a boat. Shipping is my business after all."

* * *

"You call this a boat?"

He smiles thinking of her reaction when they had pulled into the shipping yard and he pointed to the massive freighter.

"Ah I can see the chopper from here. That should speed up the process," he says.

"A helicopter? Raymond what-"

"Have you ever flown in one? Really there's no better way to get to the top of the stack."

"Yes as a matter of fact. The day you turned yourself in, the FBI was so kind as to pick me up in front in my house."

With a laugh he had patted her knee. "What I wouldn't give to have seen your expression. Come on it's all smooth sailing from here. For a few days at least."

They had exited the car and he waited as her eyes traveled up and up to the highest stack of containers.

"What do you mean by  _top of the stack_?"

"I reserve a stack on the starboard side whenever the need arises," he said, taking her hand and leading her toward the dock. "We sail with the evening tide, Lizzy. You'll love it."

He thought this would be the right plan when he had made the arrangements the evening before hoping against hope she could escape custody a second time. It seems it was, seeing her relax at every turn as they stopped to greet the captain before being waved off with a smile toward the helipad and  _Mr. Kaplan_   _took care of everything_.

She never hesitated before climbing aboard and within minutes they had been deposited on top of the container directly in front of their accommodations. They watched the craft fly off toward the setting sun before making their way to an electric keypad by the door. He felt her arm link with his and heard her murmur, "Good thing I'm not afraid of heights."

"You're lucky then. I prefer staying closer to the ground in all honesty. It's why I chose boats instead of planes when joining the military."

She had looked at him curiously, perhaps wondering if he was teasing her but soon her attention was arrested as the doors swung open to reveal the room within. The lights were already on and everything in its place as he knew it would be.

He stood back to let her enter and other than a whispered  _good lord_ she hadn't spoken for several minutes as she took in the sitting room and small kitchen. The art on the walls and what appeared to be a small bedroom beyond.

Finally turning to him with a brilliant but rather tired smile she had stated, "I could get used to this."

"Well you'll have several days as it will take a few to cross the pond. We'll dock in Spain and from there decide where to go."

"I can't think that far ahead."

He had smiled and walked to her, tipping her chin up with his hand and kissing her lightly. "You don't need to. How about a shower and there should be a selection of clothes for you."

She pulled back in amazement. "A shower? You're joking."

"I never joke about such things, I assure you," but his amusement was evident. "It's a tight squeeze but there is a shower and restroom off the bedroom."

"How on earth?"

"Don't ask, just enjoy" he said, nudging her toward the back of the container.

He had taken a turn after her and now walking back out into the sitting area he watches as she flips through his selection of albums. A few cabinet doors are open and he smiles imagining her snooping around.

She eventually glances over to see him leaning against the wall.

"Hey."

"Hey. Feel better?"

"I do," she replies putting the stack of albums down. "Raymond, I think I could eat if you-"

"Lizzy, say no more. Kate will have stocked the fridge with enough to feed us should we decide to circle the globe."

His relief is evident as he ushers her to the table and selects a record from his collection. Some light jazz to go with dinner and a bottle of wine he uncorks. "Plus there's the pie for dessert, don't forget about that."

He's fussing and she lets him, knowing he needs to be doing something. Sensing how close that crack in her composure is to fracturing and wanting to hold her together until she can rest and recover.

"How did Mr. Kaplan do all this?" She asks, taking her brandy to walk around the room before sitting on the couch.

"I gave up wondering that long ago but she'll be close by in case we need anything. Sort of paving the way as we go. Dembe will meet us in a few days as well."

She nods still not ready to think about what lies ahead. It is so much easier to imagine the ship taking them to some far reaching port so they can disappear. For how long she has no idea since the thought of the crimes linked to her name tears at her. The desperation to prove herself innocent, to make the world understand her reasons for pulling that trigger. She can't help imagining what her fellow agents and even Cooper must be thinking since all of this began. The look of judgment in their eyes mirroring what she has already seen from Ressler.

Or fear.

As the memory from earlier comes to her mind. The terror on the faces of the hostages after her altercation and without realizing she speaks it aloud.

_I cannot stop thinking about that man from the diner. His wife, the way she looked at me. No one has ever looked at me like that before._

_The people you're talking about, the ones who think they know you, they really don't know anything about you at all_

But he knows her, at least enough to understand the pain The Cabal has inflicted. Some part of her sense of self has been damaged and twisted. Her life stolen out from under her and he wants more than anything to put it right, to ease her suffering.

_I'm not saying it's easy to ignore the way people look at you, but I hope you can find some solace in the fact that when I look at you…_

Some words are difficult to speak no matter the absolute truth they contain. Some sentiments are too meaningful and he finds he can't continue. Can do nothing but smile and lift his drink in a silent toast to what he isn't sure. To her, to the both of them and what he feels in that moment that is so hard to convey. She returns the gesture and instinctively rises to follow him to the door sensing they both could use a minute to gather their thoughts.

It takes her breath away.

The great ship plowing across the water as the Atlantic stretches out before them. He helps her step out, running his hand down her arm and she feels that familiar flip in her belly. The days ahead and the ones they have left behind them fade away. All that remains are the stars overhead and the light rippling across the water. The wind whipping across the bow drowning out the sound of the engines far below leaving only the night sky before them.

Perhaps this is what he needed without realizing it. The sea air that never fails to remind him of…

_That's Polaris, The North Star. That's how sailors used to find their way home. When I look at you that's what I see. I see my way home._

She looks back and watches him watching the sky overhead and knows he won't meet her eye. Not yet. Somehow she thinks she'll never smell the salt air or look at a starry night and not think of Raymond, hoping one day to be able to tell him what he means to her. Not yet.

And so she steps to his side and does what she has wanted all day, since she walked into the diner and saw him stand and wait for her to approach. She moves to his side and wraps and arm around him and feels his move across her shoulder to draw her in.

They stay that way for awhile until they eventually move to the step at the doors of the container and sit. He tells her of a life at sea and chuckles when she says he would have made a great captain.

But looking back at the room behind her that all but glows amber against the darkened ship she can't help but add, "Although I doubt the Navy would have let you have such free rein with decorating."

"I'm quite happy how it turned out," he says feigning wounded pride.

"Me too. Let's never leave."

"You got it."

He pulls her close again because they both know it can't be. They'll reach port faster than either will want and the danger will resume.

"You're dozing off," he murmurs a little while later.

She feels the words close to her ear and cannot deny it.

He hears her mumble something and tries again. "Lizzy, you've been awake for two days. You need to rest."

"I know. I'm getting up."

There is absolutely no movement on her part and if anything she seems to relax into his side even more.

"Okay, up you go," and before she knows it he has hauled her to her feet and they step inside.

"Was that really necessary?" she mutters with a yawn.

"Yes, and besides my arm was falling asleep."

She rolls her eyes, leaving him to fasten the doors, and walks numbly to the bedroom. Never in her life has she been this tired, but also strangely content as if she is right where she needs to be. Ironic considering her current position on the FBI's most wanted list.

Opening a drawer she finds a few tee shirts and pajama pants for Raymond and closes it to move on to the next. It strikes her as she pulls a pair of sleep shorts and a tank from the next drawer how very domestic this all is and she laughs thinking of Mr. Kaplan setting up house for them.

She is in bed when she hears him bumbling about, getting clothes from the dresser and entering the restroom to change.

When he walks out and takes a few steps toward the front of the container she whispers into the darkness, "Where are you going?"

"To the couch to lie down. If you need anything-"

"No."

"I'm sorry?"

"I said  _no_." She'd love to see his expression but her back is too him and her body couldn't move if she wanted it to. "There's plenty of room. Get in."

She silently counts to eight before he moves to the other side of the bed and lies down, pulling the blanket up around them. "That's better. I can sleep now," she murmurs.

He can't help touching her. Just the faintest brush of his fingers across her brow to move her hair back so he can see her face.

"I will too."

Her features are difficult to make out, but there is enough light from the other room that he doesn't miss the small smile at his words. He closes his eyes listening to the wind whistling through the containers and thinks he may just rest after all.

"I don't have a home."

He was sure she was already asleep after several minutes had passed before she spoke. "What do you mean?"

Her eyes flutter open to meet his in the dimness before she answers. "There was only the motel and I'm sure everything there is in an evidence lockup by now. I don't have a home."

"Sometimes home isn't a specific place, Elizabeth."

Her hand finds his and she holds it there between them before closing her eyes. She had wanted to tell him what it meant to her, his words from before, and finally she is able to.

"Then this is home."

His whisper follows her into sleep.

"Yes, it is."


	32. Fallen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline post 3.2
> 
> Thanks for reading!

_So the world’s got plenty of good and bad liars  
But our lies should come with chariots and choirs_

* * *

He has until Iowa to get it done.

A strange bargain he has made with himself but so be it. Whatever comes from the telling of it at least he’ll be free of the secrecy bordering on untruth. She can do with it what she will and the thought has him rising to walk the perimeter of the small room feeling its confines quite suffocating.

It unsettles him to this day, how could it not. The bargain they all struck when the events played out and they were left with the repercussions. When survival was the only goal. Her mother feared her ever remembering and how vividly he recalls her asking for Sam’s word that he would never speak of it. Then a glance to him after Sam’s affirmation for the same promise.

He agreed readily having no intention of further contact once he saw them safely to Nebraska. Yet here he is traveling the same route they had taken all those years ago. Only a few hours past their present destination, but so much of that journey has been lost to time and the fog of pain that surrounded him then. The mental and physical anguish that stole the breath from his body. The images from the car window replaced with his child’s empty room. Her toys scattered round as if she were gone for only a little while when in reality he knew he had lost her forever. A blink and the wall of flames would appear as the screaming from his memory drowned out any conversation taking place in the car. He withstood it as long as possible until a pill would bring the darkness and a dreamless sleep.

There is no recollection of ever speaking as the hours and miles flew past. He had lost everything. There was nothing left to say.

“What the hell is going on?”

She breaks into his thoughts and turning to reassure her, he can only stop and smile as he takes her in. Her appearance has all the markings of having been through a storm and come out on the other side. Disheveled doesn’t begin to describe. Hair in every direction and some very appealing sleeping garments covered by the rumpled black shirt he had discarded the evening before.

“So many things but everything is fine, Lizzy. How’d you sleep?”

“Apparently long enough to cross the ocean or am I mistaken about the road we seem to be riding on?”

He clears his throat and says quietly, “I’m afraid Spain will have to wait which is a pity. Valencia is lovely this time of year. We’ll put it on the itinerary at some point. Would you like that?”

“Yes, that sounds…”

Thrilling.

She is utterly confused and trails off not sure how to respond. The image comes to mind quickly. The two of them strolling through the quiet streets, away from the bustle of the city center. Some little neighborhood where the locals congregate and of course this is where he would want to take her. A tucked away restaurant where they know him by name and greet him as an old friend. The thought is indeed intoxicating but considering the current state of affairs, quite beyond their reach.

With a glance around, she attempts to make sense of the strange circumstances she awoke to find herself in. The shipping container is just the same as she remembers, though a little disorienting as there is no hint at the outside world to let her know whether it is day or night. The only intrusion remains the faint but distinct road noise beneath them.

“Then we’ll do that, shall we?”

_Something for someday._

He had jotted that down in a note to her once. A lifetime ago. When she shut herself away after the murder on the boat and he wanted so desperately to give her a reason to step back outside. A gift left every day to remind her of things to come. Someday. Like a promise to be kept.

The words are for himself more than anything, even though she smiles and he swears he can see the tension leave her.

“Well, at least tell me where the hell we are.”

He chuckles and walks toward her, reaching out to rub her arms through his shirt she wears. “Currently West Virginia. After that Ohio, Indiana, Illinois and then Iowa. The I’s have it, it seems.”

“Raymond, what on earth are you talking about?”

He laughs out loud and ushers her to the table to sit. “I’ll explain while you have some breakfast. It’s all to do with finding a chink in The Cabal’s armor.”

“There’s a chink in Iowa?”

“Yes, or rather a way to cause a little havoc with one of their major money-laundering locations. Leonard is still at work on the Fulcrum but I’ve also tasked him with keeping tabs on the organization’s many holdings and supplying information through Mr. Kaplan. When this opportunity presented itself she contacted the ship and had us turn back. She’ll get word to Dembe and he’ll be waiting when we get there.”

Well, she did ask, but until she is fully awake and perhaps has a little coffee she will hold off any in-depth discussion. “Okay, Iowa it is.”

‘We’ll have time to discuss the details later,” he says as if reading her thoughts.

He sets some fruit and a selection of pastries on the table before joining her with the pot of coffee, figuring one cup may not do the trick today of all days.

“I feel hungover,” she mutters, sipping gingerly at the scalding liquid. “How long did I sleep?”

“About twelve hours. We were quite a ways from shore when the call came to turn around, then it took time to dock and transfer the container to the truck. We’ve never done that with anyone inside but it seemed a pity to wake you.”

“You’re joking.”

“Not at all. You never stirred throughout the entire process. I hung on to keep you from rolling out of bed when a gust of wind would hit, but otherwise it all went off rather well.”

She is peering at him over her cup, hiding the grin so evident in her eyes. “Sounds like I missed all the fun. You should wake me up next time.”

“I’ll be sure….to do that.”

No one can drive all thought from his mind quite like she can. He gives into it. Sits with her and attempts to ignore the miles passing, drawing him closer to what he must do. She hands him half of her croissant which he takes and after a few bites he reaches for her coffee which she slides closer, already anticipating him. As if they have shared this ritual countless times before.

It could all end in a moment.

“Will you do something for me?”

Again she intrudes into the worry plaguing his mind. “Of course.”

“Tell me what you’re thinking right now. Just once let me know what’s in that head of yours.”

He couldn’t evade those searching eyes if he tried. Where would he go and it doesn’t escape his notice that he has decided to tell her when he is, for all intents and purposes, trapped.

“Raymond?” When he doesn’t answer but that far off look remains that prompted her question in the first place.

“I’m thinking of all the things I must tell you and all the reasons why I should and should not do it,” he finally answers. “But you need to know and I won’t keep it from you any longer.”

“Oh.” Not what she expected even though she has known he has been coming closer to telling her. However, now that it is here…

“I have till Iowa.”

“You…..what?’

“I decided somewhere between Norfolk and Iowa City seemed as good a place as any. I also hoped you’d sleep all the way.”

His smile doesn’t hide the seriousness in the remark, the fear that lies there. No wonder he never woke her. Knowing how exhausted she was but also dreading what would follow and her chest tightens at the thought of him out here alone with his memories.

“Where did you say we are?”

“West Virginia.”

“So that puts Ohio up next,” and at his nod, she continues as if deep in thought. “Well, Ohio is clearly too much pressure so let’s skip it all together. Okay?”

He finds he could not possibly speak and nods his answer instead.

“That leaves Indiana, then we can just let it all go when we get to Illinois. What do you think?”

He thinks he loves her and there are simply no words.

Reaching for her hand, it is already there waiting, anticipating him again.

* * *

She likes his stories. Has always found herself pulled into them even through the anger and distrust that layered so much of their early relationship, but this one will be terrible she has no doubt of it. The weight of it is already there with them, in the quiet that descends, the tension growing stronger. More than once she is tempted to stop what is coming, but she cannot bring herself to do it. After taking her time getting dressed, sensing he needed to be alone with his thoughts, she has finally returned to the sitting room. Watching him, her words from earlier immediately enter her mind.

_Tell me what you’re thinking right now._

Memories with sharp edges, yet he must walk straight through them. Passing the GPS display that has been charting their progress, she realizes they have already crossed the state line. Strange that it should go unnoticed when they collide head on with the past.

Did he sense it, but there is no indication he is aware of anything as he sits with head bowed staring at his hands hanging loosely in front. Empty now when they once held a life that he desperately wanted to preserve. He would never have let it go so callously, she doesn’t care what his FBI file states. It was ripped from him as surely as the fire burned the evidence of that loss into his very skin.

With a glance at her wrist she realizes she has been rubbing the scar there. The reason she won’t stop him from telling her. The fire found her as well and she needs to know the secrets it holds. The reason a loaded weapon ended up in the hands of a child. The reason she grew up in Nebraska. What drove his daughter into hiding. What haunts him to this day.

“Indiana,” she whispers when she sits next to him, immediately putting an arm around to draw him close.

“I know.”

Difficult to find a place to begin when there are so many small twists of fate that brought such devastation. They were already too far gone by the time he realized what was happening and it could not be undone. No way to turn back when they were hurtling toward their destruction and all the while he should have known. She warned him, after all.

“She told me that very first day, to leave it alone, that I had no clue what I had stumbled into. There is no one to blame but myself.”

Does he even feel her there next to him, she wonders as she draws her hand back and forth across his back. He already seems lost to her somehow, back in that world that almost killed him.

“She?” When he says no more.

“Katarina. Two opposing operatives yet she warned me of the danger. I wonder if I had listened…”

She leans back to wait, with only his profile and the hunch of his shoulders as a clue to the sea of images bearing down on him.

“So much of it is happenstance held together by hubris that eventually led to our downfall.”

A whisper, almost to himself, as if he is still trying to make sense of the events.

“How stupid to think that we could, that I could…..”

“Raymond, you’re speaking in riddles,” she says at last, with no other wish than for him to be done with it, that it may leave them in peace.

“It is a riddle, Lizzy. All just bits of information passing from one hand to the next with very few privy to the entire picture. That’s all it is really, one meaningless clue that leads to the next until a connection can be made. A city full of spies and we were all spinning in circles until….”

“You made a connection.”

She has guessed correctly, but his head dropping lower reinforces her answer. That is what he does, the consummate strategist that inadvertently  _stumbled_  upon something horrifying.

“Yes. A suspicion really, nothing more. You have to understand, it’s not only the intel that we processed that was important but the source of it. Was it stolen by someone on the other side or sold to the highest bidder from ours? You can imagine that it was the selling of national intelligence that posed the greatest threat. A traitor within.”

_A traitor._

Exactly what he became. Countryless. The seller of secrets. But he was not the first.

“Suffice it to say a distrust formed regarding a member of my task force—”

“I’m sorry, your what?”

The merest glance over his shoulder at the astonishment in her voice.

“Task force and, no, the irony is not lost on me either.”

“But how did you….I don’t understand. I always imagined you overseas in more of a lone wolf situation.”

“That is precisely how I spent the majority of my early career in counterintelligence which is not, however, conducive to married life or to raising a child. After a few years I requested and was granted a transfer home. A last ditch effort to save my marriage and the very thing that destroyed it. More irony. It seems there is no end of it.”

The first time he has mentioned his family and she feels as if the air is being drawn from the room. An effort to save his family and he lost his life instead. No wonder he has been roaming about ever since.

"Tell me about the task force," she says, tempering her impatience. Feeling certain his mind needs to approach it slowly, the place where his daughter dwells.

He draws in a breath and lets her be the guide. Concentrating only on her question.

"It was extremely covert. Interagency and focused solely on the DC area. Washington at the height of the Cold War kept the FBI and CIA quite busy and it was not only foreign operatives they were rooting out, but Americans with a cause or simple greed that sold information to the highest bidder. Nothing new but with tensions being what they were in those days, our task force came into being. I've often wondered if its origins grew from the notion that there was more at play than a simple game of tradecraft. The first intuition hinting at The Cabal's existence perhaps. I will never know," he finishes quietly, lost in thought.

“Who was it?” she asks.

“Who was who?”

“The person you became suspicious of. Fitch? The Director?”

He is grateful she somehow knows to ask the questions and guide him through the tangled past.

“The latter. I have no idea how long it had been going on or if your mother was the first, but he sold intelligence for years it seems. Betrayed many assets, all to line the pockets of The Cabal and gain more power.”

“You’re skipping ahead.”

How she hates the words but she needs to understand these fragments.

“I suppose I am,” he concedes, the resignation heavy in his voice. “It is how I crossed paths with her after all. How we came to fight from the same side, but with no possible way of winning. How the most improbable of friendships was born.”

“Raymond.” Quietly, drawing him back to her. "Tell me about the suspicion."

She can discern nothing from his profile but his sigh is audible as he continues. “It is difficult to place it, to pinpoint where it began. Had I not just returned from overseas I doubt I would have noticed but it was clearer as the outsider looking in. It was just a turn of phrase really, something Peter said in passing and it gnawed at me. I had no idea why but it stayed with me, bothered me for days until I remembered where I had heard those words. Half a world away and part of an intercept we received, sold and passed along until we managed to steal it back. I told myself to let it go, that it was a coincidence and nothing more, but the seed was sown. From that day I knew what he was with absolutely nothing I could offer as proof."

"You were that certain?"

"I was. You know how it is, Lizzy," he says with a quick glance over his shoulder. "The instinct that stitches together everything we do whether agent or criminal. I was more than certain."

She does know. It is what keeps them alive after all. "What came next?"

"I waited and watched. Set about proving that intuition. Your father was of great help there.”

“Sam? But how—”

“He was an asset and a friend. The best at surveillance of anyone I had ever worked with and one of the very few I could trust. We thought at first Katarina was simply Peter's lover.”

“I don’t understand.”

A multitude of questions and no matter what he tells her, they will never all be answered.

He continues fixating on the point on the wall and continues, “Lizzy, there are expectations in that sort of life that would seem unimaginable today, but during the Cold War with so much as stake, certain orders were given.”

She already has an idea what her mother was ordered to do.

“Your parents were placed in DC and they set about doing what all operatives did in those days. What I was doing. Gathering intelligence and passing it along while preventing a breach of our own. At some point your mother was tasked with turning a high level intelligence officer and she….”

“What? Tell me," she implores, when he grows silent.

“She resisted. It was her first assignment following your birth and I believe that made it all the more difficult for her. From everything she said, your parents cared deeply for one another and she wanted to take you home. The reason she gave you a Russian name. The reason she at first refused, but your father and their government were a persuasive force. There was little choice I imagine, especially if she didn’t want to be separated from you. She conceded and thus began a years long operation. In retrospect, I believe it was all manipulated somehow. To have their operative imbedded with a covert task force as well as disseminating information to the other side. Yes, that is what The Cabal does best, playing all sides and maneuvering all the pieces. In the end, however, Katarina learned much more about that organization than she was ever meant to."

“How—”

“Lizzy, you will never know everything about those years, about your parents' life in the KGB or what they were ordered to do that went far beyond the boundaries of marriage,” he says, unable to keep the impatience from his tone. “You will never know the lengths she went to. She only ever told us part of it…..but I’m getting ahead of myself again.”

It goes as quickly as it comes and he draws in a ragged breath. The sound of it the only reason she doesn't pull him around to face her, to drag the rest of the story from him if need be. She won’t do it, fearful of hurting him more than he already is. Instead, there is the simple brush of her hand up and down his arm. Once. Twice. It is enough.

"When did you meet her?"

"The surveillance went on for months until we knew their was more to their relationship. We chose the moment and confronted her. Sam and I. It was to be so simple. Force her to turn over the intel she received, the proof that we needed....but the look on her face. My god, I will never forget it.”

He can hear nothing. Not their breaths in the quiet room, not even the noise from the road beneath them. Nothing at all.

 _Leave this alone_.  _Turn around and forget everything you’ve learned._

“She tried to warn us but I didn’t listen. I suppose I never do."

"Tell me about the warning."

"She had been where we were just arriving, Lizzy. On the precipice. She had believed Peter a spy and nothing more, just as we believed him to be a traitor. Nothing more."

"What lay beyond the precipice?"

"The Cabal," he replies grimly. "How exactly she came to learn Peter's real secret she would not disclose, but she had a three year head start on us. Massive amounts of information, world events that she worked into patterns, uncovering their lies. Wars. Famine. Death. Remarkable what she discovered on her own."

"The Fulcrum," she whispers.

"The beginnings of it. She never turned it over to her superiors. There was simply no way to know who to trust."

But her mother gave it to Raymond and Sam. There is the smallest smile thinking she would have done the very same thing.

He continues as if reading her thoughts, "She trusted us. There were other options after all. Tell your father her cover was blown, attempt an escape. She did none of those things. She gave it to us and enlisted our help. Not an easy thing to do to put it mildly, but she did it for you."

“Protection in exchange for giving you the information and the evidence against Peter? A way out.”

“Yes. To remove you from that life.”

_A way out._

What they were all searching for without even being aware.

“We worked on it for a year from Sam's apartment. Building the file, establishing new connections, but she was in an impossible situation. Your parents envisioned your future laid out very differently. He saw only the potential for a second generation Soviet operative embedded in the U.S. It brought the first crack in their relationship. She could not trust him with the truth to the point she felt there was no choice but to take you away."

He glances back before continuing, “She chose your life over her husband and country.”

The smallest nod before he looks to the wall again. "Tell me the rest."

It should have worked, but how quickly everything unraveled.

“We planned it for months. You and she were to go with Sam to Nebraska while I dealt with Kotsiopulos, attempt to reveal The Cabal or at least find someone to trust with the information. At some point you would be given new identities freeing her to leave with you. We never made it to the edge of town much less the midwest, at least not the way we had wanted. Not at all.”

How bitter it still tastes. Knowing he was bested, not only that but decimated. He never saw it coming believing he was the one a step ahead. At least he is honest enough to admit that if nothing else.

“Peter betrayed her. He could have killed her, but he does love his little games.”

"But how-"

"We don't know, Lizzy," he interjects, anticipating her question. "We never learned how or even when he became aware he was compromised. He tracked us while we tracked him, a never-ending circle. It couldn't have been long though or we'd have picked up on it and he'd have realized we also knew about The Cable. He acted in haste and we underestimated our enemy. Something we have never done since," he finishes with deadly calm.

"Say it," she whispers, feeling the precipice approaching.

"He sent pictures of one of our last meetings to your father, to Katarina’s husband. Proof that she was passing information to a U.S. intelligence officer. Her fate was sealed at that point and while Peter was at it, he made sure it appeared I had sold those secrets to my KGB lover. Not too difficult for a wife to believe since the marriage was already an unhappy one. Not too difficult to convince my superiors since by then they realized there was a leak within the department and I had requested that transfer home after all. Quite easy to ruin all our lives.”

“My god, Raymond.”

He remains turned, locked in the events of that last day.

“It was an avalanche, burying us before we could react. Sam knew it first, realized he was being followed and alerted us. We were simply too late. Your father took you that day. I was home when Sam called and by the time I hung up the phone, the front door was being kicked in. Of course it would be easier to link me to the treason if I were dead. There were three of them, the first wave. I took them out and ushered Carla and Jennifer to her car and told her to drive and not stop. The last memory of my daughter are her cries as she clung to me, then forcing her in the car with her mother. Then only an empty house marked in blood.”

Terrible as she knew it would be. The worst possible memory cutting into them both and she cannot fathom how that isn’t the end of it. She reaches to place a hand on his back, over the scars that still remain that cannot possibly burn deeper than his tortured mind.

"Raymond..."

But some losses cannot be bounded with words and the first tear breaks free, running silently down her cheek.

"He timed it perfectly. What better day than Christmas Eve to land the final blow," he murmurs, his voice weighted down by the pain. "We had at least arranged a location to meet in case of an emergency and we left straight from there. The only place your mother could think of that he would take you on such short notice was a safehouse your parents had used on occasion. Way off the road and hidden in the woods. We barely made it down the drive and didn't realize the power was knocked out from the recent snowfall. There was a light in the window and she bolted from the car before we had even stopped. By the time I entered she was already upstairs confronting him. He was hurting her, that part of your memory is true. The gunshot followed almost immediately, it was just that quick.”

He turns to her. How desperately he wants her to understand. “Lizzy, it was an accident. The gun was knocked loose as they fought. It was an accident.”

She must believe him for there is no other memory for her to hold onto. Nothing but the feel of metal in her hand as her father fell dead at her feet. There is no comprehension of the act, just a child picking up something her father had dropped. The confusion of her parents' argument.

“I made it to the doorway a second later with Sam close behind. The fire was already burning from a kerosene lamp that overturned during their altercation. The light we had seen in the window. How fitting as our lives were burning down around us.”

He has turned away again, but she can see him swallow. His attempt to control the emotion until they reach the end.

“Sam pushed Katarina toward the stairs and when I turned, you were gone. I found you hiding in the closet of a bedroom, wrapped you in my coat and simply ran. The debris hit us steps from the front door but I managed to make it outside with you where Sam threw me to the ground to put out the fire. That’s all I remember. Just the breath knocked from me as I was falling and your screams piercing the night.”

The rest contains all the pain there is left to fill in the gaps. Fitch making contact days later and enough evidence given to convince him of the Fulcrum's existence. An agreement was reached but it was too late to change the events. Raymond became a wanted man from that day. The Cabal would not to kill him or his family for fear the Fulcrum would be realeased. Sam insisted he take Lizzy to Nebraska to be near his sister and it was agreed upon. A separation and a silence. A retreat. Lizzy would be safe in the midwest but would go there without her mother. Katarina was left behind to be hunted by her country and it drove her all the way to the water’s edge. He had only his ruined name and a wife and daughter secreted away. An abandoned car to make it appear they no longer mattered to this scarred body and ravaged soul.

“They were all gone. A line of dominos falling one by one. Katarina. My family. Even myself when I left Nebraska. All that remained was loss. It went on and on and on.”

Nothing left but the promises made between three unlikely friends to protect the last innocent among them. A promise they swore with blood and which Katarina and Sam took to their graves. The reason her memory was taken. The reason she could not see her father as he lay dying for fear he would tell it and break his oath. The reason for every hard thing that followed, the burden Raymond has carried alone.

There are not words enough to describe what was taken from them. No story he could ever tell that could paint that picture of utter despair.

"I don't believe she knew then what her decision would be," he goes on, giving voice to what he has always believed. "It is why she hid the Fulcrum within your stuffed animal, the one she made sure went with you in the car. She must have thought that someday....but sorrow can damage in ways...."

It is too overwhelming to ever make sense of, but she understands his fragmented thoughts. She knows how deeply sorrow can carve into a person. Her mother’s choice on that beach and the things he has done in order to survive are the aftershocks still rippling out across the years. She feels their impact and will need to revisit the events just as he has. Grieve for these lost lives as they deserve but for today, on this first day, there is only a single thought.

They have found one another. They are what remain. Beyond the sorrow and loss that have governed his life and she reaches for his arm, pulling him around, not letting go. She won’t give him the chance to retreat.

“Come here.”

“Lizzy….”

The slightest shake of his head and the confusion in his eyes. How could she not blame him?

“Come here.”

He leans back and she is there in an instant. Curling into his side with her head on his chest and he can do nothing but hold on.

“We made one hell of a mess of everything.” he whispers into her hair.

“Considering where we are, I could say the same.”

“Lizzy, don’t—”

“Don’t you either. It’s done.”

He rests his head against hers and she is glad for it. That he has let it go for now.  _It’s done._ Not really, she thinks. It will always be there in one form or the other. She had thought hearing it would put those ghosts to rest but some will always linger. Her mother. His daughter. How could they not?

She suddenly remembers her meeting in the Director’s office, when she brought him the Fulcrum and bargained for Raymond’s life after the shooting. His words to her as she walked from the room.

_I never saw it before. How much you look like your mother._

He hears her sharp intake of breath. “Are you alright?’

She pushes the Director from her thoughts. That is a battle for another day as her arms tighten around him, feeling him do the same.

“I am,” she whispers. “We are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second backstory chapter I've written and may it be the last. I opted for the simple version since I've never felt the overcomplicated one on the show is really that necessary. 
> 
> But I do think it's important so I wanted to take a chapter and address Red and Lizzy's past.....but now it's 3.3 time which is a lovely little overlooked episode with a plot I still can't figure out but who cares with all the smiling and flirting going on. Who knew Iowa was so romantic.....


	33. Threshold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline 3.3

_Shot out of hell like a bullet from a gun_  
_A flip of a switch_  
_A thief on the run_

* * *

“I’m sure he’s fine.”

But she’s unsure if the grunt she hears from the passenger seat agrees with her or not and decides further assurance may be needed.

“Mr. Kaplan probably couldn’t reach him in time with our new location. He’ll be no more than a day behind us.”

He wants to believe her but can’t quite ignore the gnawing feeling in his gut. Dembe would not have missed their rendezvous point unless something was wrong and with The Cabal chasing them he doesn’t want to think of all the things that could have prevented him getting to Iowa.

“Raymond, did you hear me?”

_Focus_. They can’t let this opportunity go to waste and as she said, Dembe is probably just delayed since they’ve cut off contact except through Mr. Kaplan as an extra precaution. He needs to focus.

“Hey, you with me?” she asks, giving him a poke in the leg.

“Yes….yes. Tomorrow then. We’ll see if he makes contact tomorrow. In the meantime Glen will find out what he can.”

“That’s better.”

She hears his soft chuckle that perhaps signals some lessening of his worry. The same concern that has her tightening her hands on the steering wheel as she turns the car south toward Fairfield. Hoping her words are true and Dembe is safe but what if….however, there are too many of those to contemplate. Can’t they have one day where the precarious balance they’ve arrived at won’t be tipped toward disaster?

There was no explanation for the lightness of their mood this morning. Neither knew what to expect after his recitation of his past, their past, but certainly not falling asleep on the couch holding on to one another where they remained all the way through Indiana as well as Illinois. No reason they should feel this unburdened as they arrived at their destination and left the relative safety of the shipping container, but that is the only way to describe it. Unburdened.

Until Dembe failed to meet them and….

“Tell me again why we’re here and what the plan is,” she says quickly, not giving her mind the opportunity to wander.

What they both need. Some distraction to keep them company as the miles pass. They already know the plan and the reason for it but he tells her again and they concentrate on what awaits them. The chance to destabilize the Director’s position within the Cabal and in the unlikeliest of places. Iowa and a little known company with cutting edge technology in the genetic modification of food crops and the age old talent of laundering money.

“That technology has been stolen by a group of local farmers the company put out of business and if let loose on the open market, would be worth billions and Verdiant’s stock would plummet. They crumble and so does their ability to move money for The Cabal.”

“Putting the Director’s leadership in danger.”

“Exactly,” he concludes. “Don’t forget, Lizzy, it was the Director that convinced them to have me killed—”

“Which thankfully failed.”

A brief glance his way and he returns her smile.

“Yes, I am more than grateful they failed in that endeavor, however, as a result the Fulcrum was released. The very thing Peter convinced Cabal members was not in my possession. I’d say his position within the organization is already in question. If we continue wreaking havoc, it will leave them no choice but to exonerate you and sacrifice the Director.”

“Well, if anyone can wreak a little havoc, it’s you,” she says rather fondly and his laughter follows. “So we steal some stolen files and bring a billion dollar corporation to its knees?”

“Indeed.”

“Sounds fun. Where to then?”

“Perhaps breakfast first then we’ll have a chat with these farmers.”

“Followed by the havoc,” making him smile again.

That there is laughter after their flight across the country much less the horrors he told her of only the night before is unimaginable yet it is there in a stolen car on the backroads of Iowa. They find themselves grateful for it, not knowing when it may end.

* * *

“You’re joking, right?” she asks, looking down at his outstretched hand. He can’t seriously expect her to simply hand over the car keys.

“What? I thought I’d give you a break since you drove all the way here from Iowa City.”

And he has the gall to look confused.

“After you make fun of the car I chose to those farmers, you expect me to let you drive?”

“Lizzy, I was simply pointing out the need for directions since you did in fact steal a car without a GPS.”

He catches her smile before she turns and stalks off toward the driveway as she calls over her shoulder, “I’m sure between the two of us we can find our way. You coming or not?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He soon catches up and slides an arm through hers. “You know, it didn’t escape my notice you hot-wired that car in less than a minute.”

“It was less than  _half_  a minute and besides I’m out of practice.”

“I’m intrigued,” he murmurs quite close to her ear.

So it seems he was paying attention but before he gets any ideas….

“I’m glad, but you’re still not driving.”

_Out of practice._ She almost laughs out loud at the thought of her youthful indiscretions that did in fact include stealing a car once or twice. Not much harm was done and the rebellious phase passed as they often do but she is reminded of that sense of freedom. Not a care in the world as she and her friends tore off into the night seeking some type of adventure in the plains of Nebraska. And here she is again only this time with one of the world’s most notorious criminals, chasing freedom that seems to disappear on the horizon anytime they draw close to it.

But she is also a criminal, the one that brought about this manhunt. Nevermind that it was Connelly and ultimately the Director that forced her hand or that the latter destroyed Raymond’s life as well as her family. He is free while they may never…..

“Elizabeth, are you with me?” he asks, repeating her question from earlier.

He noticed the change immediately. The falter in her step as her smile disappeared and the worry returned to her brow.

“Yes, of course,” she says without thinking, looking around to get her bearings. Once they reach the car, she stops at the driver’s door and leans back. “Okay, let me get this straight. We don’t need to find Eli Matchett but rather Gabriel Costa who works for Verdiant, but helped with the theft? The farmer’s  _inside man_. This is getting complicated.”

She’s speaking rather quickly and he decides to let whatever upset her go for now as she sorts through the facts.

“It invariably does. We have two choices. Locate Costa or proceed directly to Verdiant’s warehouse in Silver Spring.”

“If we locate him, we may find out what the company has stored there. Could be beneficial.”

“And I would agree. How about I drive—”

“Think again, Reddington.”

Her smile is back and god how he finds that he needs it, misses it when some dark thought drives it away. Before it disappears again, he takes her face in his hands and kisses her. Slowly, softly like they have all the time in the world, there on that small dirt road in the middle of a cornfield. He waits for her to relax into him which she does and it will never be enough, never close enough.

“What was that for?” she asks, drawing in a breath.

“Do I need a reason?”

“Absolutely not.”

His hands slide around to tangle in her hair and they forget everything but each other. Not the door handle pushing into her skin or the sun hot on his neck. Her fingers take in a handful of material at the small of his back as the pressure increases along with the need for more.

“Lizzy,” he whispers, finally pulling back.

“Hmmmm?”

She drops a few kisses along his jaw before meeting his eye, waiting for him to continue which is exceedingly difficult as all thought seems to have left him.

“Perhaps we should…...The Cabal. Costa,” he says at last.

“Dammit, you started it.”

The humor sparks with the desire in her eyes and he chuckles at her frustration that matches his own. What a pair they make and what a tempting thought that elicits.

“And I look forward to continuing at a more opportune time, I promise you.”

“Fine,” she concedes with a sigh. “Let’s go break into this guy’s apartment then.”

She reluctantly turns to enter the car and he even more reluctantly lets her go, feeling a chill go through him at odds with the warmth of the day.

* * *

More time. Often there never is in this life. Not only the lack of it but the sense that it is fast running out and to what end one can only imagine. He understands it all too well, the darkness and its constant pull, threatening to overtake everything. She is only beginning to comprehend that this world offers only a series of stolen moments if one is very lucky.

Spying Ressler and Samar through the window of Costa’s apartment puts an end to the story he was telling her and it begins again. The race for freedom with the flight down the back of the stairs as her heart accelerates, hoping they can remain undetected.

Tossing the keys to him as they reach the car, she answers before he has a chance to ask. “If they pursue us, I know what it will mean to you to outrun Ressler.”

“Well, you have me there,” he laughs, sliding behind the wheel and tossing his fedora in the back seat.

Neither speak until they are miles away, when it is apparent they are not being followed.

“How in the hell did they find us in the middle of Iowa?” she finally asks, relaxing enough to lean back in her seat.

With a glance at each other, they answer at the same time, “Aram.”

“Exactly,” he says. “Remind me to never underestimate the computer prowess of Agent Mojtabai.”

“Wait, you’re passing the turn for the highway,” she interjects, wanting them to get as far away as possible.

“There is still Verdiant’s warehouse to check, plus this box Costa had hidden. We’re going to need a drill to open it.”

“Forget about the box. We need to leave.” Hoping he’ll see reason for once.

“This is the life, Lizzy. Someone is always a step behind.”

His calmness is infuriating when he pulls into the next store they pass and strolls in as if he hadn’t a care in the world. The entire situation that led to this convergence in the midwest is beyond comprehension. Perhaps that is why she makes the phone call. To make them see reason within this chaotic mess.

_Verdiant is connected to The Cabal. Reddington thinks if we get enough leverage-_

_Reddington is not capable of telling the truth, you know that._

_If you’re interested in the truth, back off. Let me do what I have to do to clear my name._

_No._

She hangs up with the knowledge that there is nothing she can say to Ressler to make him view the current situation as anything other than the pursuit for Raymond Reddington. The one that consumed five years of his life and the one that resumed the moment she and Raymond entered that silver van. Yet another affirmation of how far she is from her former life as an agent.

So be it.

How easily she is able to let it go knowing there is no going back. No help or understanding to be had from her former partner and she will not seek it again. Another door closing and it barely registers as they pour over the documents Costa had hidden in his apartment.

“Costa was handing over information to Matchett and his crew. Looks like he was sending them to a feed store in Wilson Park,” and seeing his expression she immediately shakes her head. “Wait, we can’t just go charging in there. We had a hard enough time handling The Cabal with the FBI backing us, let alone hunting us down.

“Don’t be anxious, We’re still a step ahead.”

“I’m not anxious. I’m scared.”

He drives them toward the feed store while she tells herself to breathe and he tells himself not to be an ass. They’ve barely gone a mile before he reaches for her hand, keeping the other steady on the wheel. There is simply the need to touch her that can’t be ignored. Her hand grips his so tightly it is evident she needs the contact as well.

Two miles, then three and finally a relaxing of their hands but not a letting go.

“Fear is the only thing standing between us and certain capture, Elizabeth. It is always there in one form or the other.”

“I’m beginning to see that.”

“Worry more if it ever leaves you. Complacency leads to mistakes which lead to a blacksite prison and that’s if we’d make it that far.”

Brutal honesty but what else can he do with the dangers facing them. It calms her, steadies her and she won’t be so quick to make an error in judgement again as the phone call comes to mind. Just as she is turning to tell him, he pulls into the parking lot of the feed store and the words die in her throat. It will keep for now.

Why it should be empty at midday raises their suspicions immediately and they approach with guns drawn.

She automatically begins scanning the building for an entry point and notices the heightened security that appears out of place for a simple country store.

“Rover keypad. Four digit PIN. Could be thousands of combinations.”

With a nod, he reaches for a handful of loose dirt at his feet and blows it onto the lock revealing the most utilized numbers.

“Only if you don’t know the four digits. Now there’s only twenty-four combinations.” Glancing over, he finds her grinning at him and continues by way of an explanation. “Trick I picked up in the Sahara. Sand everywhere and with the ability to get in places you could not believe but highly useful when breaking into the odd armory—“

“Stop talking before you ruin the moment. You’re cute when you’re being clever, you know.”

No, he did not know that nor does he really know how to reply to such a comment, but he’s saved the response as she begins going through the combinations on the keypad. On the eleventh try they gain access and begin moving through the storage area.

“Door,” she whispers, spotting the entrance to the basement and they are soon within a state of the art laboratory.

“It seems this isn’t your average feed and seed.”

_Not at all,_ she thinks as she goes immediately to the computer and begins pulling up files.

“This is it,” she says, the excitement growing in her voice. “The intel they stole from Verdiant.”

“Let’s get what we need and go.”

Searching through the desk she locates a flash drive and begins copying files, but it has barely started the transfer when he spots movement on the security monitors to his right.

“They are really getting to be a pain in the—”

“Is that Ressler and Samar?” she calls to him, her eyes never leaving the monitor.

“We’re fine. Keep working.”

The transfer seems impossibly slow as it’s barely to 20% when they hear the glass breaking upstairs.

“They’re in the building. How much time?”

“I don’t know,” she whispers, as the panic is rising. “These files are massive. We should go.”

“Not yet.”

“There’s a storm door through that storage room.”

“Wait,” he mutters watching for movement at the top of the stairs.

“Raymond.”

Something in her voice, more than the fear he told her to use to her advantage. Some firmness there that lets him know he is risking too much. Something in her tone he trusts and without another word of argument, he turns and follows her from the building.

With extra caution, they move along the side of the building until they have a view of the front parking area. It is then he realizes the agent’s vehicle has completely blocked their own. “For god’s sake.”

“There’s a few cars in that lot across the street. We’ll get one of those.”

“Okay, just let me get my jacket.”

“Reddington, need I remind you Samar and Ressler could come charging through that door any second now.”

“Lizzy, it is literally on the way. Besides, the brown jacket is growing on me and I’d hate to lose it so quickly.”

She rolls her eyes and begins walking with haste, while scanning which car looks the quickest and easiest to take. “Fine and for the record I like it. Nice change from the blue.”

“The blue is a true classic but for purposes of concealing my identity I thought something new—”

“Oh absolutely. They’ll never recognize you in a fedora and  _brown_ jacket.”

The banter continues and he times the hot-wire at 20 seconds. By the smile on his face she realizes he put on that little show to keep her calm, occupy her mind while her instincts took over as she went through the motions of breaking into the vehicle.

“Very cute when you’re clever,” she repeats to him as she accelerates toward the highway.

“And you as well, Lizzy, I assure you.”

* * *

She’ll always wonder what would have happened if they had simply kept driving and not turned into the bar in the next town over. The one with only a car or two in the lot, making it seem the ideal spot to plan their next step. With 90% of the files transferred, there was no way of knowing if they were even readable much less useful against The Cabal. They intended to stay only long enough for one drink, to clear their minds and determine how best to access the data.

She will always wonder but the events of that day will never be changed.

He catches her eye just seconds after she tells Raymond what she had wanted to earlier. The phone call and her reason for it because to leave it unsaid felt like a lie and how desperately she wants to be free of that.

_I called Ressler while you were in the store._

_Why would you do that?_

_I told him to back off because if he was interested in the truth-_

_You need to let that go, Lizzy—_

Let go of her old life at least for now. Of course this is what he meant. One day she may very well win it back again but until that happens…..

At that moment she realized they were in trouble. The man at the bar and the quickest of glances their way. The whispered phone call followed by a chill washing over her.

“We need to go. Meet me out front in a minute,” she murmurs, already rising from the table to leave.

Raymond stills instantly, reading in her expression the danger she sees over his shoulder. It happens so quickly. Lizzy slipping out the door behind her while he drops a few bills on the table. The time it takes to turn and find a gun pointed at him. A split second later Lizzy comes through the front entrance with her own weapon trained on the man.

_Must be my lucky day. Raymond Reddington. You have any idea how many people want to see you dead?_

_Some idea, yes._

_And you, you’re the woman on the news. The Russian._

_You seem like an intuitive guy. At least intuitive enough to know when you’re in over your head so whichever lowlife you’re working for, he’s going to have to wait to get his revenge. Set it down._

He doesn’t listen as so often happens. Underestimating an opponent while doing the opposite where your own abilities are concerned.

She fires as he swings the gun in her direction, pulling the trigger out of instinct and the training that will always be with her. To save their lives and keep them one more step ahead of their enemy.

Does it matter that she aimed for his arm? That she wouldn’t go for a kill shot with the memory of Connolly’s lifeless form so fresh in her mind? Does it matter at all as the blood spreads in a wave across his chest and she staggers a step to the side with the realization she misfired.

“We have to leave.”

And she sees it then. The police badge Raymond pulled from the man’s pocket and the dread that follows with the knowledge she shot a cop.

“Lizzy, we need to go. They’ve already called 911.”

“He’ll be dead by the time an ambulance gets here. I’m not leaving him.”

The briefest hesitation before he follows her, helps her, gestures for the man behind the bar to assist in carrying the injured man to his car. As many times as she has followed him when her instinct told her otherwise, he can do nothing but the same.

“How much longer,” she calls over her shoulder as she leans into the backseat, her hand on his chest.

The blood pools between her fingers and there is no way to stop it. Not his life spilling out or the bullets flying overhead. Her eyes close and all she can see is Raymond falling in front of her, disappearing from view beyond the hood of her car.

“Hold on, Raymond. Hold on.”

She doesn’t know if he hears her or not, locked in this world of pain and she presses harder, afraid he will be torn from her grasp.

“Elizabeth.”

From far away and she shakes her head in confusion.

“Stay with me.”

Closer this time and she looks over her shoulder and it is Raymond driving the car, not Dembe. Not his blood on her hands but the man from the bar and they could not be further from that day in the street.

God, he wants to hold her close but can’t let go of the wheel as they speed into the emergency entrance of the hospital. They are locked in motion, yelling for help, the man taken from the car and he returns to the driver’s seat and finally everything slows. She is staring in the direction where they have taken the injured cop, frozen to the spot but his voice makes it through just as it did before and she enters the vehicle.

“They’ll have the description of the car within minutes. We’ll have to change to a new one as soon as possible.”

“Do you think he has a family?”

Her pain slices through him, the hopelessness in her voice cutting deep. “Lizzy.”

“He’s going to die.”

“Don’t.”

She can’t stop the thoughts, not there with his blood drying on her hands and she can’t bring herself to wipe it away. The world blurs and she lets it. Doesn’t resist when Raymond guides her to another car, makes no response when he leaves to enter a small gas station. Simply sits with her hands on her lap wondering at the fate of the man whose blood covers them. Doesn’t realize they have stopped again until he is there at her side pulling her from the seat.

“Where are we?”

“Behind an abandoned storefront. The water is off to the building but I bought several bottles at the gas station. We couldn’t risk you walking in like this.”

She shrugs and he tips her chin up, forcing her to look at him, to focus. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

At her nod, he takes the first bottle and pours it slowly over her hands as she rubs them together, watching the blood form little rivers at her feet. They spread out in every direction, and she wonders how far they will travel, how much will be impacted along the way.

She is reminded of Dembe leading her to the sink that day to wash Raymond’s blood from her hands. So much of it and the nausea that rose like bile in her throat watching it swirl down the drain. Wondering if he would come back to her.

“I keep thinking of that day…”

“I know.”

He understood when she said his name as she held her hand to that man’s wound. Hazy images of her doing the same for him, holding onto him as he was slipping away.

“I think this is good for now,” she says, shaking the water droplets from her hands.

“You’re alright, Elizabeth.”

No question this time but only a simple statement.

“You are,” when she makes no reply.

“I shot a cop.”

“A cop not in uniform and who never identified himself. With The Cabal using Verdiant to launder their money we have no idea how far that corruption goes or if local police are involved.”

She meets his eye again with a small shake of her head. “But we don’t know that he is a bad cop.”

“No and we may never know. That doesn’t change the fact that standard procedure would require him to identify himself.”

“I was aiming for his arm,” she whispers. “I wasn’t trying to kill—”

“I know,” he says again and sees her smile just a bit.

“You think you know me quite well.”

“I do. Come here.”

And he brings her to him and she closes her eyes feeling his kiss through her hair. She  _is_  alright even when her mind slips or the world blurs. She can always find herself again, find him there with her.

It is bearable then and they return to the car. She unpacks a burner phone he purchased earlier and he places a call to Mr. Kaplan. They need a clean car, somewhere to stay until nightfall when they can leave in relative safety.  An hour later and another call and they pull onto a farm road to find a hotel key card taped to the fence post just where she indicated.

“You said Mr. Kaplan would always be close but how does she manage all this?”

“I gave up trying to figure that out long ago.”

* * *

He doesn’t need to tell her. She knows him as well and when they enter the hotel room she decides to say it first.

“You’re leaving again aren’t you?”

He nods and she exhales a breath, the sound sharper than she intended.

“I’m not sure what use the files are at this point but a bluff may work. It certainly did with the Fulcrum all those years. There is a Cabal member that works for Verdiant and a message needs to be delivered. One that is sure to reach the Director’s ears.”

“That being?”

“That we’re coming for him.”

“Damn straight we are.”

He chuckles at the steel in her voice. “I will also check in with Glen and pick up the car where Kate has it stashed. Unfortunately while we are here—”

“We are more recognizable together,” she finishes for him. “Raymond, it’s alright. I understand. I’m going to shower and try to sleep some.”

Reaching out he runs his hands up and down her arms. “Speaking of, there will be a go bag for each of us in the car but in the meantime I picked this up for you.”

He hands her the bag from the gas station and she pulls out a light blue tee shirt with  _Hello from Iowa. Wave the next time you fly over._ scrawled across the front.

“There wasn’t much of a selection.”

“It’s fine, just remind me to burn it later.”

“You got it. Oh and before I forget, I’ll be needing your clothes,” he says, smiling as if this is the most normal of requests.

“My clothes?”

“Even though they will have identified you as the shooter, the less physical evidence the better.”

“Makes sense.”

With a glance at his watch, he says almost to himself, “Now I should be back by—”

“Raymond, I’m okay. Just make damn sure you come back.”

She reaches a hand behind his neck and draws him forward, kissing him forcefully, then steps back to whip her top over her head throwing it toward him. 

My god,he thinks and turns as she slips out of her pants. Within seconds he hears the water running in the shower and glances toward the door she has left partially open. Not only does he plan to make certain he returns, he’s cursing the fact he has to leave at all.

“Goddammit,” he mutters and leaves already counting down the time until he can get back to her.

Time he loses track of.

He only knows it is very late when he quietly let’s himself into the room. She’s in bed, curled on her side facing away from him and he wants nothing more than to hold onto her. Without stopping, he begins undressing and slips in behind her and wraps an arm around her, hoping her warmth will chase this unending chill away.

“You feel good,” she mumbles, pressing her back into his chest.

“Elizabeth,” he whispers on a breath into her hair. As if there is nothing more he need ever say, only her name as a balm to his soul.

But she can sense it, the tension in his body and she must know.

“What has happened?”

“Dembe.”

It’s bad whatever it is and she turns, studying his expression in the dimness of the room.

“Raymond, tell me,” she says with the fear of what the answer will be flooding into her voice.

“He’s been taken by someone working for the Director.”

“Oh god, what else can possibly-”

“Bad things are going to find you now, Lizzy, find us,” he interjects quickly. “You’ve crossed a threshold, leaving your world and entering mine. Bad things will happen.”

His pain is palpable and the rest is left unsaid. She closes the distance, drawing him close as the darkness descends pushing them further from the light.

After a while he murmurs close to her ear, “We need to leave before daybreak.”

“This is what we need.” and she tightens her grip with no intention of letting him go.

“I know.”


	34. Troubled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline 3.4
> 
> Thanks for reading!

_Here comes trouble_  
_Put your helmet on_  
_We’ll be heading for a fall_

* * *

They stay as long as possible, until there was only an hour left before dawn. An hour to drive toward the state line under cover of darkness, moving them away from the noose circling round. In truth, they should already have left but some unspoken need held them in place. There in that shabby motel room in a town neither could name. Perhaps they knew once the embrace was broken and they returned to the world outside it would not be so easy to find their way back again.

_This life has a mind and a momentum of its own. That’s a reality you need to accept. Bad things happen to good people._

_Am I a good person? I’m not so sure anymore._

_I’m sure._

Maybe he is right. Raymond, Dembe, Katarina and now herself. Each good in their way, pulled into this dark spiral The Cabal set in motion long ago. It’s no wonder it led him where it did. Corruption hiding the brokenness within. She understands this now. How anguish can twist the mind and soul into something unrecognizable to oneself.

He knows it too, more than most, he supposes, and to have her drawn into this terrible life was something he never fully contemplated. Not really, not when his path was clear. Expose the husband and traitor in order to free her of that danger. However, this life certainly does have its own trajectory that once in motion refuses to stop. The thought of what it could do to her spurs him forward. Mile after mile with no clear plan except to get her far away from the scene of the shooting. And then what?

He has no answer.

Not with the haunted expression on her face and the thought of Dembe in the hands of the Director. Just more proof that he can never really protect those that matter most.

It was never meant to be like this.

He should have left. Sometime after the husband but when and how he has no idea. He only knows the reason he never did and no matter how deep that emotion is embedded now, it cannot soothe the ache that has taken over. The fear that the only way to save her from this world is to push her from its grasp while he stays behind.

* * *

They are within inches of each other and entirely alone with their thoughts. Neither have spoken in two hours and sixteen minutes and she wishes she could make her mind count something else. Cars passing or the number of left hand turns. Something, anything but the length of this growing silence. She’d break it if there was anything to say, if this numbness hadn’t taken over that makes speaking a painful proposition.

_Bad things happen._

The unknown fate of the injured cop. Dembe missing. Bad things to carry with them as they head south. Missouri and then into Kansas. The unlikeliest of paths that will hopefully not draw anyone’s attention.

A glance in his direction as his jaw clenches and unclenches and she turns her gaze back to the window. She wants to ask him about Dembe but it seems too personal and now it’s two hours and twenty minutes.

It isn’t until they pull into a gas station at the three hour mark that she reaches her limit.

“Raymond, why don’t I drive for a while,” she says when they get out to stretch their legs.

“I’m not sure I can...I think today I will do better keeping my mind occupied if that is okay.”

“Of course.”

His fatigue is evident and probably the reason for the openness of his answer. Also the reason he doesn’t meet her eye but tips his head back in the direction of the afternoon sun.

“You’re not driving all night though no matter what you may be thinking.”

“No, there’s a safehouse a few hours from here,” he says to the sky. “I spoke with Kate earlier, I should have mentioned.”

She lets it go since his thoughts are as scattered as hers. No need to ask if there is any news, the answer is there in his silence. They return to the car and she begins again, counting the quiet that stretches all the way to the next stop.

There is the brief curiosity whether they are still in Kansas or have made it to Oklahoma, not that it really matters. It’s just a brief stop over for the night. A little house on the edge of town with the key left under a potted plant on the porch. She pays no attention as they enter, dismisses all thoughts of food and walks directly to the nearest bedroom.

He will be placing another call to Mr. Kaplan and she leaves him to it. There is no other wish than to be done with this day and after disposing of her top and pants in a pile on the floor, she climbs into bed. It seems only a minute or two before he is there sitting by her side.

“Lizzy, the man you shot is going to make a full recovery. Kate was finally able to confirm his condition.”

Thank god. There has been enough useless blood spilled and the relief is more than she can express. Reaching for his hand she gives it a squeeze and he lets his thumb stroke back and forth in that way of his. She hopes he will never stop.

“You’re tired,” she says softly. “Why don’t you—”

“I’ll be up for a while, but you should rest.”

He leaves and takes with him the comfort of his touch. She will sleep tonight and sleep soundly, she already knows it. The exhaustion is too overwhelming and won’t allow her much time to wonder at his quick departure interrupting what he knew would follow. Words that would have urged him to lie down next to her and try to rest, but he won’t return to her bed tonight. Her last thought is how far will he pull away before she is able to reach him.

* * *

“Lizzy, we seem to be in need of a computer hacker.”

He says it out of the blue and she turns toward him in the car. They hadn’t talked much at the safehouse earlier and she was already dreading another silent day. She had come into the kitchen to find him leaning against the counter lost in thought as he sipped his coffee and the emotion rose unexpectedly. The slightest hesitation but she walked directly to him and wrapped her arms around, laying her head against his chest. She waited until there was the softest kiss through her hair before turning to sit at the table as the tears pricked her eyes. They remained quiet. What they have become so good at in such a short amount of time.

Now perhaps they can speak of what to do next if nothing else.

“Well, that’s Aram.”

“I’m aware but do you think he will—”

“Yes, absolutely he will help us. He’ll tell Ressler about it afterwards but he will definitely help,” she says with certainty.

“Then it’s time we head north. Or northeast to be more precise.”

“Raymond, I haven’t a clue which state we’re in much less anything else. Tell me what the plan is and why we need Aram.”

This earns her a chuckle and she smiles at the sound of it. At least there is some lessening of the oppression from the previous day. At least there is a way forward that will occupy his thoughts away from Dembe. Away from herself and what he fears he will bring to her life.

“So this woman, the Djinn, makes fantasies come true. Why is this relevant to The Cabal?”

“Her client list is a virtual treasure trove of greed, murder, and revenge. Acts perpetrated by certain high level members of The Cabal and that information could offer us leverage against them and perhaps the Director.”

“And we need Aram to set up a meeting?”

“Yes. The encryption of the web address is too sophisticated to bypass easily. I think if we take turns and drive straight through, we should be there in two days.”

When she doesn’t reply he glances over to find her studying him with a curious expression and the smallest of smiles.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she replies with a shake of her head. “And since I know you didn’t sleep last night, it’s my turn to drive so pull over.”

He doesn’t argue and the switch is made. Just as she expected, he is soon asleep as she steers the car north by northeast for the long drive ahead. No stopping along the way because being alone with her in a car is a very different thing than being alone with her in a safehouse. Because she has seen the doubt that came with the news that Dembe is in danger, that harm may sometimes fall to those associated with him. Something he can’t always control, this man who is rarely without it.

_When you love someone you have no control._

She will just have to remind him.

* * *

“Raymond, don’t scare him when he comes in.”

“Lizzy, it’s Aram,” but seeing her raised eyebrow, he nods before continuing. “Okay, I see your point. Everything will be fine. Now go enjoy your shower while I wait for Caul.”

“He’s not here yet if you’d like to go before me.”

“I’ll wait for the safehouse. Leonard will be along shortly.”

“You know there are time saving methods we could employ but I suppose since it’s Aram’s shower we better not,” she says, with the amusement fairly dripping from her voice. Probably at his expression as he wonders if he was just invited to join her in a roundabout way.

He swallows rather forcefully and she gives him a sympathetic pat on his arm as she leaves the room and he is still standing there looking at the closed door of the bedroom minutes later when Leonard lets himself into the apartment.

It is as they had hoped. Leonard leaves with the intent of tracking down Matias Solomon and Aram arrives with only relief at seeing his friend and the intent to assist in any way he can. If there is the faintest trace of discomfort when Aram and Lizzy embrace or when he comments on her appearance, Raymond tries to ignore it, telling himself he is being foolish. It doesn’t, however, stop him from interrupting them so they may proceed with the task at hand.

The guilt is there when Aram spontaneously hugs him goodbye, seeming genuinely sorry to see them go. Raymond is out of sorts, there is no denying it, and he’s not sure he is up to acknowledging all the reasons why just now.

“Aram, always a pleasure,” he says and leaves them to their goodbyes.

They’ve a long drive ahead to the small theater in New York that will act as a safehouse for the next several days and she joins him a few minutes later. It’s quiet again and when they finally arrive late in the night, he heads immediately upstairs to shower in one of the dressing rooms. She doesn’t fall asleep until she hears him walk quietly onto the stage to lie down on the couch while she is alone in bed on the other side of the false wall.

* * *

It takes a day for The Djinn to set the meeting. A day they spent rattling around the old theater, rummaging through the props department where she attempted to convince him to try on a cowboy hat while he promptly ignored her.

He recited Mother Courage from memory until at last he forgot a line and she couldn’t help but tease him.

_You’re a terrible actor._

_There’s nothing wrong with my performance._

And the familiar belly flip that made her smile wondering if he is aware of the effect he has on her. She very much doubts it and most definitely not in his current frame of mind.

The day passes away and she falls asleep thinking of him only a few feet away. I feels like miles and miles.

But now she is on her way to the mysterious granter of fantasies while he remains behind in the park. She knew that he would never have wanted her to slip into the car alone and unprotected but the decision is made without hesitation.

They arrived at a warehouse but where, Liz would not be able to say. She will not be able to offer much about the meeting except it did not go as planned. Why it should have left her this disconcerted as she paces the empty stage she cannot say. How did this woman get inside her head after only a few minutes? Her story of wanting revenge should have been enough. Why wasn’t it enough?

_I’m not interested in what you want. I’m interested in what you deeply desire. I can sense that death and vengeance aren’t what drive you, Elizabeth. Or feed your soul._

_What does?_

_A lost world, I suspect. Another life. Why don’t you tell me about that fantasy and maybe I can help you._

She could not form a response and only just managed to leave behind a tracking device before she was dismissed.

_If you cannot face your truths then I cannot help you._

Her truth? One that she has barely had time to acknowledge to herself much less a stranger with her discerning expression. Liz was more than happy to get back to the solitude of the empty theater but now her thoughts only feed this growing restlessness.

 _A lost world. Another life._ The one she should have discovered when she pulled herself out of that hellish nightmare and somehow put herself back together. The one that never came to be because of a bullet ripping him apart and the trigger she pulled to save his life. No, it is not something lost but rather what she hasn’t yet found on the other side. What  _they_  haven’t found and a noise makes her turn to see Raymond entering the room.

She turns back to the costumes lining the rack at the edge of the stage, something to distract her, occupy her nervous movements.

_I gave her the story, but she didn’t believe I was being honest. She wanted to know my real fantasy. I didn’t say anything, just put the bug on her shoe._

He’s looking at her so strangely and she can’t imagine what he is thinking until he poses the unexpected question.

_What is your fantasy?_

He can’t stop the words even though her answer will only add to all this regret slamming into him from every direction.

_It’s been the same thing for as long as I can remember. I’m walking in a park with my husband. In between us is our little girl. I’m holding her hand in mine and I never let go._

Her words are hauntingly…..familiar. His other life that he rarely visits in his memory. A lost world. The one that keeps him tethered to the darkness that won’t let him be.

His phone interrupts, signaling the location of their target and they leave not knowing how much will happen before they return to this theater of pretense.

* * *

He realizes immediately they have not located the real Djinn but only the frontwoman, so to speak. Enough rumors have come his way over the years that he’s convinced this woman in the modest suburban house is not who they seek.

What better way to find the real identity than to offer to remove that individual allowing Alice to take over the business. Liz barely registers surprise that he convinces her to cooperate as they leave with the name. Looking over to comment on this strange turn of events, she is struck by his expression. The pain that mars his features and she stops just short of asking him if he is hurt.

“What? What is it?” she asks as they step from the car. “You’ve been quiet ever since we left Alice. Is it Dembe?”

_Is it me?_

But she leaves the question unspoken.

A shake of his head as he murmurs, “It’s your fantasy.”

“What about it?”

And finally he turns to look at her before answering. “It’s as it should be.”

The shrug followed by something she can’t quite…...resignation. That is it and indicating which path she should take, he walks away toward the front entrance of the house where the real Djinn resides. The giver of wishes, dark though they may be. At that moment he has none left to make.

They are not too late to save a life today though one has to wonder. The father forcing his son to become what he was never meant to be, all because of prejudice and hatred. It sickens him deeply but he makes the call to 911 all the same. Lizzy has had enough of death and so help is summoned.

But he cannot stop the tirade that follows.

_Is it just me or is the human race armed with religion, poisoned by prejudice and absolutely frantic with hatred and fear, galloping pell-mell back to the Dark Ages? Who on earth is hurt by a little girl going to school or a child being gay?_

She loves him. Maybe never more than that moment. For what is good and right as well as the damaged part of him she may never fully understand. The  _truth_  that Alice sensed there beyond the need for revenge or to clear her name. Something bigger than herself. What lies beyond The Cabal and this manhunt that she supposes will end at some point one way or another. It is what will remain. Not his remorse or fear although she realizes he can’t see that at present. Something bigger than both of them that met them in a blacksite when she walked down the stairs to where he waited.

But as always happens, there is no more time as the sound of approaching sirens grows louder by the second. She reminds him of the journal and the need to go in order to stay a step ahead.

That this will be accomplished by way of helicopter is something else he failed to mention, but she will forgive him since she is learning to pick her battles. She turns her eyes from Ressler and Samar running toward the craft as they take off and finds herself searching the horizon instead. Wishing they could fly toward it without ever stopping.

* * *

“You should have been a lawyer.”

He’s sitting in the armchair onstage and looks up from the Djinn’s client list in confusion to find her leaning against the door. “What was that?”

“A lawyer. I can see you giving that speech against bigotry in front of a jury and packed courtroom.”

He chuckles at the thought. “Just what my father wanted, but I wanted the sea.”

“Ah well, you’d have won every case probably. Like on some great legal drama,” she finishes with a smile.

“You’re in a funny mood. You alright?”

He can’t make out what is there just under the surface. Something that unsettles her as her hand taps repeatedly against the door and he wonders if she is aware of it.

“I think so. Trying to forget what we saw there today,” she says quietly. “You said the theater owner is dropping by?”

“Yes, but Lizzy I can call her—”

“No, I’m going upstairs to shower and then read for awhile. I’ll be down later.”

A quick reply and she is gone. He listens to her steps fade away as he taps the book in his hand, quite unaware he is doing so.

He probably would have drank too much or told one to many stories with his friend had it not been for Leonard interrupting them. He could have gotten lost in their memories of the old theater, but there is news of Dembe and he leaves with Caul immediately. Doesn’t take the time to go upstairs and tell Lizzy what has happened, calling her from the car instead.

How Leonard found this room of torture he can’t possibly imagine. The blood splattered walls and pools of it on the ground turn his stomach. Dembe was there and recently. He must have tried to sleep on the filthy mattress in the corner, sought a way to escape. Did he manage it or was he simply moved to a new location? No way to know, only wait to see if he makes contact unless they can somehow find him first.

The sound of her moving round the stage greets him when he comes through the back entrance and she is there in a moment wanting to hear the news. She’s wearing a robe evidently found in the wardrobe department and he wonders how she hasn’t tripped over the thing. It is much too long and much too big and….

“Raymond,” she says, breaking into his thoughts. “What is it?”

“Leonard found where Dembe was held. He’s gone. Moved or…”

“Escaped? It’s a possibility, you know.”

“Yes, it is,” he replies after several seconds pass, deciding not to describe the room in detail. It would serve no purpose and she is worried enough. “We will know soon enough and in the meantime Leonard will continue the search.”

“I’m sorry.”

“As am I.”

Resignation. Regret.

He makes no attempt to wipe the traces of it from his voice. Without another word, he steps around her and walks upstairs.

* * *

He’s gone so long she wonders if he opted for the sofa in Gerta’s office. For the first time since this whole ordeal began, she is wide awake listening to the sounds of the theater, the faint hum from the city. She attempts to make out the shadows that play across the seats from the few lights she left on and more than once turns her eyes toward the stairs only to realize it is simply the old building talking to her.

Perhaps he is waiting for her to fall asleep but that seems impossible tonight. The exhaustion that has followed her for days is long gone and she turns in frustration onto her other side. It just so happens to be away from the back of the stage and when she hears his soft steps a few minutes later she is unable to see him, only track his movement to the couch on the other side.

Avoiding her again.

Pushing her away and she turns back to her other side with no idea how to reach him. She counts to a hundred. No idea what to say about Dembe or anything else for that matter. She counts to two hundred. No idea at all except the one thing she really wants to know. She stops counting and slips quietly from the bed.

It takes only a step to remember she is wearing his undershirt stolen from his go bag and she looks around for the robe then thinks better of it. She’d probably trip over the damn thing anyway.

There is a moment or two spent studying the false wall that divides the sitting room and bedroom that make up the set. A few paces to the left and she could simply walk around it but something stops her. There is a permanence to it, a dividing line and she won’t go around but through it. With that she opens the door and crosses over.

He’s awake as she knew he would be. Maybe even listening to her rustling around and wondering what she was doing. But she is here now and when she comes to a halt they study each other without speaking. She taking in the fact he showered but dressed again. Slacks and a white shirt with sleeves rolled up and not the tee shirt and pajama pants she knows he would prefer. Another barrier added back to those she thought torn down long ago. He’s watching her watch him and doesn’t miss that she has apparently made use of one of his undershirts. It is when his eyes narrow and darken that she closes the distance and sits next to him where he lies on the couch.

“You tell me and I tell you.”

“Lizzy….”

Softly, the faintest warning there. The last shreds of self-preservation for her as well as himself.

“I told you my fantasy, so now it’s your turn,” she continues softly. “Quid pro quo, remember?”

“We haven’t done that in a very long time,” he murmurs, reaching up to run a strand of her hair through his fingers. The blonde is darker here in the dimness of the theater, taking him back to that first day of his surrender. The visceral reaction at seeing her that caught him so completely off-guard and the one that remains to this day. It seems they have come full circle.

“I suppose we haven’t had too,” as she brings an arm to rest on the other side of his body.

“Your fantasy—“

“We’re talking about yours, not mine. And if your next comment is regarding my safety, we can talk about that later. Tell me, that’s the deal.”

She won’t let him go and god he never wants her to. He can think of nothing but her, the feel of her body leaning into him, and he runs a hand up her arm to bring her even closer.

“You.”

“ _You_  what?”

He smiles, increasing the pressure and she draws nearer.

“ _You,_ Elizabeth _._ The answer to your question is  _you_.”

“Oh,” she whispers. “Care to expand on that?”

He chuckles at the flush that rises in her cheeks at her own question. “You know what I mean.”

“I do and one day I will, Lizzy."

Tell her of what sustains him. A place with no name, uncharted on any map. The water stretching out in every direction, the exact color of her eyes. The wind that carries her laugh away when he tells her that but she rests her head against his chest as their arms wrap around. There is only the gentle swell of a calm sea and Lizzy at his side. And time. As much of it as they will ever need for anything or nothing at all.

He will tell her. Something for someday.

“Raymond, these fantasies are just that. They may or may not ever come true.”

How earnestly she says it, wanting him to understand. The painful beauty of something they can hold to whether they ever reach it or not.

“This is what matters,” she whispers, linking her hand in his. “This is as it should be.”

They will endure no matter the outcome and he surrenders to the deepest part of himself that still hopes they can reach those uncharted waters together.

“You’re trembling,” he says, looking at their hands before meeting her eyes once more.

“So are you.”

Yes, so it seems and he brings theirs hands to his lips, brushing a kiss across her skin. Another to the tender part of her wrist and it lingers there when he hears her draw in a breath.

“Raymond, I’m….”

His other hand has reached the hem of the undershirt, raising it as he grazes her hip. The fog lifts for a moment, recalling where they are and the sensation of being rather exposed hits her along with the cool air as his hand continues upward.

“...not sure.”

And when he stills and searches her eyes, she inclines her head toward the dozens of empty seats staring back at them.

“All the world’s a stage, Lizzy.”

“My god,” she says with an exceptional roll of her eyes. “How long have you wanted to use that line?”

“A fairly long time I’ll grant you but never did I imagine it would be at such a moment.”

“They really are disconcerting, I’m afraid,” and with a sigh of disappointment, she rises and walks to the door. “I think it’s time to move to the bedroom, don’t you?”

Her smile before she disappears from view will never leave his memory. He waits the length of a heartbeat and follows knowing his days of arguing are well and truly over. Closing the door when he crosses the threshold, he waits for her. He would wait an eternity.

“Better, don’t you think?” She’s sitting on the side of the bed with the traces of that smile at the corners of her mouth. Her thumb is tapping against the mattress, the only sign of the nerves underneath.

With a glance over his shoulder at the rows of seats still very much in view, he replies quite seriously, “Much better.”

“Raymond, there’s something I’ve wanted to say to you for a long time,” and she counts the seconds passing before she continues. One. Two. Three. Enjoying the moment immensely. “You really are overdressed for the occasion.”

His laughter fills the theater and he couldn’t agree more. A situation he rectifies pretty quickly and she’ll admit to the satisfaction of seeing those impeccably tailored clothes end up in a heap on the floor.

The stolen undershirt lands there next and he lets her guide him down to her, bringing the blanket to cover them both. The amusement fading when he stops to hover above her, resting a moment in the warmth their bodies are already creating.

“Are you sure?”

Her hand grazes his cheek before moving around to his back, brushing across the scars there, the ones she cannot see but only feel. They are like the chaos of twists and turns the led to this moment and she pulls him forward.

“I’m sure,” just at the moment he kisses her.

Definitely sure as she deepens the kiss, wanting more. Needing his touch in ways she would not have thought possible after what she has endured. Invisible scars but they don’t burn anymore. Not with his hands moving across her body, healing what was broken and finding she can do the same.

Deeper. Closer.

Until the last barriers have been removed and each touch is a new discovery bringing them to a place with no memory. Another life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alan Shore shoutout since he was kind enough to show up in this episode and grace us with that spectacular monologue. Just like those good old days of Boston Legal.


	35. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline: post 3.4
> 
> Red and Lizzy take a break from the manhunt which gave me an excuse to borrow a little something from s5.
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting! Means so much.

_And we’ll rise up_  
_Rise like the waves_  
_We’ll rise up_  
_And we’ll do it a thousand times again_

* * *

He sits up with a start, his senses already alert to danger as he tries to sort out what woke him. The crash followed by a muttered curse and the unmistakable sound of a body banging into the false wall in the middle of the stage.

“Dammit to hell.”

“Lizzy? For heaven’s sake, what on earth are you doing?”

His eyes have found her in the dimness as she pushes herself away from the wall and he then realizes what caused all the ruckus. The overly large robe she borrowed from the wardrobe department that she is now holding well above her feet so as not to trip again.

“Did you hurt yourself?”

“Yes, I hurt myself,” she exclaims, coming to sit next to him on the bed.

He relaxes once he switches on the lamp and sees the amusement in her expression. “Where exactly? And may I point out if you’d simply stayed in bed this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Now look-”

“Show me,” he says quietly and smiles when she raises her shoulder closest to him, knowing full well it was the other side that impacted the wall. He gladly plays along.

She obligingly tilts her head as his hand moves her hair out of the way so he can drop a kiss just there, under her ear.

“That’s not my shoulder.”

“I’m working on it.”

And it’s definitely working as he continues, moving the robe away to plant a kiss here and there along the way, sending little tingles throughout her body.

“Raymond, we need to get going,” she whispers, attempting to focus which he is making damn difficult.

“I believe that’s what we’re doing, Lizzy,” he replies against her skin, finally reaching her shoulder.

“No, I mean you need to get up and get dressed. I’ve made plans for us.”

This stops him as he pulls back looking positively stricken and she tries not to laugh.

“Why would you make plans at…..what the hell time is it anyway?”

“A little before seven.”

“No one gets up  _and_ dressed at this hour and I know for a fact Gerta doesn’t get here until well after eleven. So why the rush?” he asks, pulling at the tie holding her robe together.

By way of distraction, she takes his hand to hold in her lap. “I called Mr. Kaplan and asked her to arrange a safehouse for us. Somewhere up the coast...secluded...quiet...miles from anywhere.”

“Lizzy—”

She is already anticipating the hesitation and goes on without stopping. “And I know what you’re thinking, but everyone will continue searching for Dembe. You know they can get much more accomplished than the two of us with our current notoriety issues and Mr. Kaplan will call if we need to return. Two or three days, Raymond, that is all.”

“Just us.”

Not a question. It’s there already. The simple vision of them going away for a few days, not too far and he can’t say no.

“Yes, just us.” She smiles knowing he has relented. “Okay, so if we hurry we can be on the road—”

Before she realizes what is happening, he has laid her back across the bed coming to rest above her. “Hey, this isn’t the way to the car.”

“First things first." He kisses her long and slow until she can’t for the life of her think why they should need to go anywhere at all ever again. “Good morning, Elizabeth.”

Because some things can’t be rushed and he has thought of this moment too many times to simply let it pass. Waking with her and….well, he can wait for the waking part another morning. Perhaps with the sound of the ocean nearby as he imagines the days ahead.

“Good morning,” she returns with a stretch that is more than enjoyable for both before relaxing back.

There’s that little smile that he is fast learning belongs only to him and he can’t imagine ever being without the promise of it. “I have a compromise to propose.”

“I’m listening,” she says growing quite serious.

“You want to leave at seven and I think eleven will suffice nicely so how about we meet in the middle at ten.”

“Reddington, that’s hardly the middle. You’ll have to do better than that.”

“I intend to,” he murmurs, picking up where he left off with a kiss at the hollow of her throat.

“Nine o’clock. That’s only fair.”

But he’s not playing fair at all when he draws back to look at her. When it is something very close to wonder. When it matches exactly the emotion she hasn’t yet spoken aloud.

His hand has found the tie on the robe again and she doesn’t stop him this time.

“Okay fine, nine-thirty,” she relents with a sigh and doesn’t miss his look of triumph. At that moment she will gladly let him get his way.

* * *

It really is closer to ten before they leave the theater but by then all thought of a schedule has been forgotten. Pleasantly forgotten.

They soon, however, realize there might be a little problem.

“Apparently I should have checked the forecast, although when I’d have had the time…”

She glances in his direction but he doesn’t respond as he maneuvers through traffic with a focused determination and white knuckles gripping the steering wheel.

“I didn’t realize it would be raining quite this hard.”

“Rain? It’s only a sprinkle, Lizzy. Nothing to worry about.”

There is water pelting the car from every direction with the wipers barely managing to keep up and she has the sudden urge to lean over and kiss his cheek for trying to cheer her up. She thinks better of it, leaving him to concentrate on the road and eventually they merge onto the highway that will take them north.

“Hopefully, the storm will pass.”

“It always does,” he says, relaxing just slightly now that they have gotten out of the city.

Apparently not today as the rain continues to follow them up the coast. The downpour soon tapers off to a steady shower and before long they barely notice as the traffic thins out the further they travel.

After so many hours spent on the road since the manhunt began it is surprising how enjoyable the drive is. She coaxes a few stories from him, little nothings that don’t venture near anything too serious or that would bring to mind what they are leaving behind. Not once does she focus on the silence when it lengthens between them as she did all that day after leaving Iowa. The quiet is natural, comfortable even, until the next story begins or a new station is found on the radio.

Some things require no words.

The way they reach out almost without thought. Her fingers trailing down his arm. His hand that finds hers, bringing it to his lips before letting it rest back in her lap. Until the next time.

“What are you thinking of?”

“I believe you know the answer to that,” she replies and smiles at the small laugh she knew would follow.

Silly, really, but there is a weight that has been lifted despite what waits for them after this brief interlude. The lightness can’t be denied. The feeling that only comes with a letting go and a crossing over.

_And then something new will begin._

How could they have known when he spoke those words that they would be the  _something_. That it wouldn’t come at the end of this dangerous journey but somewhere along its path.

Her hand brushes the back of his neck before moving down to where his will capture hers for another moment. Giving into the need once more. Until the next time.

* * *

“Seriously, how does she do it?”

“I wish I knew, Lizzy, I wish I knew.”

A simple beach house but with an expansive lawn leading to a spectacular view of the Atlantic even on this stormy day. Far enough that they will avoid the New York crowd and the nearest town not a usual tourist destination. Perfect. She says a silent thank you to Mr. Kaplan who somehow understood they wouldn’t require opulence or one of the mansions that are so plentiful along this stretch of coast.

He drops their bags in one of the bedrooms upstairs while she steps out onto the back porch and quickly retreats. The wind is driving the rain into the house and with a sigh she gives up and reclines on the sofa listening to the torrent outside. 

There is a squeeze of her shoulder as he passes by on the way to the kitchen and a minute later hears him call out to her, “How long did you say we were staying?”

“Till Friday probably. Why?”

She doesn’t bother opening her eyes, growing more and more relaxed and the next moment feels her legs being lifted so he can sit at the end of the couch.

“There’s enough take-out in there for a month.”

“I told her I didn’t want to worry about cooking.”

He shifts around getting comfortable and props his feet on the coffee table before slipping off her own shoes.

“Raymond, did we really drive all this way up here to nap?”

“It would seem so.”

She smiles hearing the fatigue in his voice. The invincible Raymond Reddington is just as tuckered out as she. They are asleep within minutes owing to a very late night and quite an early morning. A few hours later, as the afternoon gives way to evening, they are awake and starving having skipped breakfast altogether.

Dinner is eaten at the kitchen counter after she pulled a random selection of containers from the refrigerator while he opened a bottle of wine. They couldn’t imagine anything better.

“Hey, do you hear that?”

“What?” she says, dropping her fork and listening for god knows what.

“The rain has stopped.”

“Raymond,” she exhales and gives him a push. “You scared me. Don’t do that.”

Half joking but a reminder of the worry that remains at the edges. His hand is there immediately to soothe it away, moving back and forth across her back.

“We’re fine. I haven’t a clue where we are so I can’t imagine anyone else knowing.”

The tension leaves her as quickly as it came, but just to make sure he picks up his wine glass. “To places unknown and may they remain so.”

She couldn’t agree more and clinks her glass with his.

“Let’s drive into town and stretch our legs a bit.”

Something else she can agree with and hopes the weather will give them a break for a little while.

It is just what she had pictured when she called Mr. Kaplan to arrange the safehouse. A small coastal town with enough shops and restaurants for the locals and a small tourist trade. It is quiet on this rainy evening and they take their time looking into a few windows or stopping to glance at a menu on display. Perhaps they could slip into one of the small eateries while they are here without rousing suspicion.

“Will you look at that! It’s Classic Movie Tuesday at the old theater.”

Following where he is pointing at the marquis, she can just make out this weeks feature. “ _Charade_. Have you seen it?”

“I have not.”

They walk across the street for a closer look at the poster in the window. “Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn. What do you say, Lizzy?”

“I’m game. I’ll need a jumbo popcorn and something with chocolate and those licorice things and—”

“We’ll get a nice selection. Come on,” he says.

There are other films playing, newer releases to draw the crowd, but they make their way to the one set aside for this weekly tradition and find they are not the only ones. Not a packed theater by any means allowing for plenty of space between the moviegoers, something he soon realizes is a good thing.

“Now that’s a movie star,” she whispers.

“She certainly is.”

“I was referring to him but I agree.”

They share the popcorn and she mutters something along the lines of  _more for me_ when he passes on the licorice.

“He certainly is playing hard to get, not unlike others I could name.”

There is a poke in his side for emphasis and he chuckles before taking her hand.

“You should try that,” when a fully clothed Cary Grant enters the shower to wash up for dinner with Audrey looking on.

“Lizzy please, the suit is an innocent bystander.”

And on it goes….

“This guy has as many names as you have.”

Her commentary is sporadic and he smiles each time, enjoying her reactions as much as the film itself.

“Stamps.”

“What was that?” he asks in confusion.

“It’s the stamps.”

And she’s right, of course. The fortune the husband had hidden in plain sight and she deduced it in seconds.

“Show-off.”

His mock indignation makes her laugh and there is the definite feeling of triumph a few minutes later when she is proved right.

“That was fun. Glad to see he finally surrendered to the inevitable,” she teases when they are back outside, strolling along the sidewalk with a few other pedestrians coming and going as the businesses close up for the night.  

“Well, in his defense—“

She stops walking, watching him with an arched brow and waits for him to continue.

He wouldn’t dare.

“Never mind, it all worked out splendidly.”

“As it should have,” she agrees, with a trace of that smile he recognizes.

There is no longer any thought of the movie, but their journey to this rain soaked sidewalk in a little town of no consequence. He would not have it otherwise. No regret to be found here although he is sure it will come again in one form or another. The pain left in the wake of what has happened will always ache at times. Memories are like that. They drift in and out like the waves breaking in the distance but it is difficult to imagine their sting with the way she is looking at him.

“Elizabeth, I—”

He breaks off as the first drops hit the brim of his hat when the proverbial sky opens up. Interrupted by Mother Nature and he rolls his eyes to the clouds overhead as they race for the car. She has a hell of a sense of humor on occasion but it doesn’t matter.

The words are still there, spoken or unspoken and not likely to be washed away by the rain.

* * *

Gone again.

He doesn’t need to open his eyes to confirm the bed is empty. There is the absence of her warmth where she lay curled into him and sliding an arm out, he finds only the coolness of the sheets. She’s been gone awhile.

With a blink toward the window he can see the rain through the early gray light of morning. Very early and he wonders if he will ever again sleep past dawn or wake to find her near. Ah well, there are worse things.

Sliding from the bed, he reaches for his robe only to realize it’s missing. Something else he will have to get used to and instead opts for a tee shirt and pajama pants pulled from his overnight bag.

She’s on the back porch looking toward the ocean. He spots her through the window as he descends the stairs even before noticing the open door or the chill in the air. Grabbing a blanket from the sofa, he walks out to drop it around her shoulders, causing her to start.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs close to her ear and wraps his arms around her from behind.

The downpour shows no sign of letting up and he looks toward the horizon. It is difficult to distinguish sea from sky through the tumult.

“Raymond, promise me we’ll do this again.”

“You mean take a trip to the beach during a hurricane? I wouldn’t miss it.”

He imagines her smiling toward the rain that is now blowing in sideways.

“Are you always this early of a riser or…”

He can feel her small laugh as she rests back against him even more. “Not usually. Had a dream and couldn’t go back to sleep.”

There is no way to judge her mood since he can't see her expression and with the wind is making it difficult to hear. Stepping to her side to lean against the rail, he waits until she turns toward him.

“There won’t always be nightmares, Lizzy.”

“No, it wasn’t,” she says with a shake of her head.

How does she explain what she can hardly remember as the dream quickly faded when she woke. The merest image of the river and a light summer shower. A cobblestone path and the sun breaking through. It was the feeling, really. The unhurried peace that seemed rooted in the stone on which they walked.

She had watched him sleeping, fighting the need to wake him. Knowing at some point the tranquility would be disturbed. Some ripple on the water that would inevitably come when they remembered what is facing them. She let him be and walked out to meet the storm and wonder when it will ever end.

“Just tell me when everything is finally over we’ll do this again. Find a place and disappear for awhile.”

“We will.” He brushes a thumb across her cheek but it can’t drive away what has unsettled her.

“And we’ll see a movie and take a walk. Go to dinner or stay in and cook.”

“Yes.”

“And I will tell you I love you without the rain interfering,” she finishes in a rush, afraid something will stop what she has needed to say.

The world has gone silent. The wind and rain don’t make a sound as he takes her in, searches her eyes for the answer. Did she somehow know what he would have said the previous evening or are her words simply the same as his? Unspoken no longer and the answer is clear. They were there all along, waiting with his own.

“And I will say the same, Elizabeth. I love you.”

He wishes it could be more. Some way to make her understand the breadth of the emotion but there is only the simple truth he can offer.

She steps the rest of the way forward, resting her head against his chest. “Promise me, we will do this again.”

There were other promises that came before. Other vows that were made then broken in their former lives. They could not possibly feel as sacred as this wish for a life to come.

“I promise you we will,” he murmurs into her hair. “A thousand times again.”

 _A thousand times again._  The words replay in her mind and she is able to imagine it. One day leading to the next and on and on. “It’s a start.”

“Ten thousand.”

“Keep going.”

The chuckle rumbles through his chest and she loves the feel of it, would sink down into it and never leave if that were possible.

“Lizzy.”

“Yes,” she says, tipping her face up to see him.

“I propose we move the discussion away from this very chilly porch and continue it upstairs where it’s warm and cozy.”

“I accept,” and she waits for the kiss that follows to seal the deal.

* * *

The third time’s the charm. He wakes as the early morning light streams into the room and judging by its brightness, they’ve actually managed to sleep past dawn. Without turning toward the window, he can already tell the sun will shine on this last full day before they must return to the city and the darkness that will be waiting. It feels so far away. There is the sound of waves breaking in the distance without the patter of rain on the rooftop. No howl of the wind, only the birds that have returned to the shore.

Pulling her closer, there is the softest sigh but she does not wake. It is still difficult to put it into words. What it means to love her and know it is returned but it is here in the space between sleep and wakefulness where there is only her. Only the two of them when they remain suspended where the light first falls. Like a new morning and the expectation of what is to come.

He closes his eyes to sleep, already smiling at the day ahead, feeling certain she will be there when he wakes again.


	36. Peril - Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline 3.5
> 
> Early on when I began writing this fic, I started referring to Tom as the "imposter" honestly as a way to avoid having to use his name. Now that 5.22 has come along it's clear there are good imposters and bad. Any reference here will refer to the latter. Also, since this story ends at 3.10, anything that happened after probably won't be addressed, at least in terms of mythology. Therefore, Raymond is Raymond for the duration. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting. Hope you enjoy!

_When I was a man I thought it ended_  
_When I knew love’s perfect ache_  
_But my peace has always depended_  
_On all the ashes in my wake_

* * *

“Elizabeth, did you hear what I said?”

She blinks, trying to bring his face into focus and fails. With a shake of her head she tries again and wishes there was something other than his concern staring back at her.

“Lizzy?”

Sharper this time, an edge of fear there now as he waits her out.

“So I suppose this means our holiday is officially over.”

“For now,” he says quietly, watching her process what he has told her. Feeling certain the same thoughts are running through both their minds.

They knew they couldn’t stay lost forever. The briefest interlude seemed all the world would offer them just then and they somehow felt their return would be met with force. What else would explain the heaviness that descended on the drive back to the theater when every word was an effort until eventually they surrendered to the silent worry. They slipped exhausted into bed late the previous night, and she had moved silently into his arms, neither willing to give voice to what they feared was coming.

And now they know. A new hunter in addition to The Cabal.

He had wondered at the repercussions of her notoriety following Connolly’s death and here it is in the form of a vigilante assassin. Wendigo and they must outpace him as well as the Director.

“A transport team is en route, I’ll call you when they arrive.”

“Call me? Where are you going?” she asks in surprise.

“To get help.”

Hurried so there isn’t the opportunity for her to stop him. His hands gripping their go bags to stop them reaching for her. Turning away to avoid the shock in her eyes.

He’s barely driven half a block when his phone rings and he sighs audibly.

“This isn’t how this works,” she says before he has a chance to speak.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

The storm is regrouping within her as it always does and he is thankful for it. She will need that fury in the days to come even though, at the moment, it seems to be directed at himself.

“Lizzy—”

“No, don’t  _Lizzy_  me. You can’t just sail out of here and not tell me where you’re going or what you’re up to. Not anymore.”

Her irritation is understandable but he still can’t resist prompting the reasons why.

“Anymore?”

He is picturing her perfectly and thinks she must be up and pacing around the stage of the old theater right about now.

“You know what I mean. Now that we’re…”

Her hesitation is brief and he takes the opportunity to interject, “Allies, partners, lovers?”

“Yes, now that you mention it, which means I stay in the loop. Where are you going?”

“To talk to Ressler about the task force assisting in locating Wendigo. It’s the quickest way to get Aram involved.”

“Are you…..you know how risky that is and also that I wouldn’t want you to do it.”

“Yes.”

His calmness is infuriating as is his maneuvering around her to seek out a meeting with the FBI when they are perilously close to disaster.

“Raymond, if you get caught, so help me I’ll—”

His laughter cuts her off and really he is the most infuriating….

“Look, just be careful,” she mutters but finds herself smiling just a little at his audacity which is immediately followed by the familiar exasperation.

“Lizzy, I assure you nothing, not even Ressler, will stop me getting back to you.”

“See, that you do. Call me when it’s time to leave.”

She has often joked about his propensity for flip phones but never has it felt so satisfying to snap it shut with greater force than necessary.  Whether she is more irritated at him for sidelining her for a meeting she can see the merit in or knowing he is right to limit her exposure outside is hard to say.

But irritated or not she hates the thought of leaving it there especially after the past several days. “Dammit,” she whispers to the empty theater as she opens the phone.

“And because I’m beginning to understand how important it is not to leave things unsaid, I love you even when I’m annoyed.”

She doesn’t give him a chance to respond and with another snap, the phone lands on the couch as she resumes pacing. The sense that the enemy is drawing closer is everywhere and she can feel them being pushed further from the place she has begun envisioning in her mind. The lost place with all the open sky they could ever want and perhaps….

The buzzing of the phone interrupts and she goes to answer wondering if it is time to leave. He doesn’t give her a chance to ask.

“And because I agree with you, I’ll say I adore you no matter how angry you get.”

There is the softest laugh and he smiles at the sound of it. It has been gone since they left the coast and he wondered when he could coax it back.

“Are we really having a fight?”

“Lizzy, I’d call this a slight skirmish nothing more. Now in the interest of lessening tensions, shall I come back and pick you up?”

The seconds tick by until she finally makes a decision. “No, I’ll meet you after with the transport team and we’ll decide what to do from there. Together, Raymond,” she finishes with emphasis.

" _Together_  is my favorite way, Elizabeth. I’ll see you in a little while.”

God, how he can make her body react with the smallest inflection of his voice and she wants nothing more than to call him for a third time and tell him to come back to her. Lead him to the bed on the stage and get lost in one another in this world of make believe.

It cannot be.

She steps to the bed and straightens the covers, walks around the set putting everything in its place before she leaves the theater for the final time. Before she walks out into the barrage of gunfire that waits for her.

* * *

He’d know that sound anywhere so often has he heard it. The crack of a high powered rifle and the lingering echo as the bullet surpasses even the speed of sound before finding its mark. It seems to reverberate through him to the exact point in his chest where another bullet struck not all that long ago. The place that still aches and it does so now as he listens helplessly through the phone.

_Oh, gun!_

Her startled exclamation at least lets him know she is unhurt by the first round but what follows is chaos.

_Talk to me! Lizzy?_

The clatter of the phone falling to the ground, more shots, the screeching of a car speeding off, then silence and it is impossible to drive anymore. Impossible not to imagine her…..

With a sharp turn of the wheel, he pulls to the curb and dials Kate’s number, giving her a few instructions before hanging up. Next his transport team even though he is fairly certain they are dead outside the theater. No answer. Her burner goes straight to voicemail as expected. His men again and then Lizzy. No answer. Nothing but the pain in his chest as if the injury re-awakened with the sound of gunfire in the street.

There is no sense of time passing as he sits. Waits. Telling himself she will need time to flee and locate a phone to call him. Telling himself the backup team Kate has dispatched won’t find her there with his men, their deaths already weighing on him.

Why hasn’t she called?

It feels like hours since he stopped. Why did he leave her there alone?

With a sudden thought he calls the one person in the Post Office he knows he can trust.

_Aram, what happened? What do you know?_

_Agent Navabi is en route. NYPD is confirming two fatalities._

He never should have left so quickly, should have talked to her first. Perhaps he’s been on his own too long, too used to making every decision. The thoughts compound and race one after the other straight through him.

_Agent Keen?_

The effort it takes to utter those words with the pain pressing in until….

_No. Oh God, No._

At last he can breathe and wait for her. Time for the sound of the rifle to fade as well as the images his mind conjured. He doesn’t trust himself to drive and stays in the shade of the tree, watching the passersby and looking for her amongst the crowd, futile though it is.

The buzzing of the phone seems abnormally loud but looking down he sees it isn’t the call he wants.

“Kate, I’m waiting on Elizabeth. I’ll call you—“

“Dembe initiated the protocol to make contact.”

“What? What did you say?”

The news he’s been waiting for and he can’t comprehend it. Dembe alive and making his way to their designated rendezvous point. He hangs up and a second later receives a text from an unknown number.

 _Safe_.

That is all. An address follows and he pulls into traffic to make his way to her. Calmer now with the knowledge she is close and that he will see Dembe in a few hours time.

It seems too good to be true.

* * *

Three blocks to where he will be waiting.

She moves with purpose, never slowing. No eye contact as she sinks as far into the hoodie as possible

Two blocks and she calls Samar to give her what information she can regarding the shooter’s location and trajectory of the bullets.

_Liz, you know I’m here so you must be close. Turn yourself in. Take responsibility for what you’ve done._

She hangs up. It is a painful reminder of how far removed she is from her life as an agent even though they are searching for the same answers.

One block.

Her pace quickens, hoping he is there ahead of her. Hoping….and there it is. The black Mercedes comes into view and she sprints the last few steps until she inside, in his arms and can breathe again.

_The bullet was so close, I could hear it. I thought—_

Holding on, she can hear nothing but his soft  _shhhh_  close to her ear.

Safe. Even the illusion of it is comforting and she relaxes into his embrace, focusing on the pressure of his hands across her back. Steady. Calming after the turmoil of her escape.

“I have good news”, he whispers and she pulls back to look at him before he continues. “Dembe made contact.”

Within seconds they are speeding through the city streets, the next step already before them. The location of the assassin’s gunmaker and perhaps the link they need to locate Wendigo.

“Raymond, slow down,” she murmurs.

There is the immediate feeling of the car losing speed but he remains silent. She wishes she could say the same to the thoughts swirling in his mind.  _Slow_   _down_. Glancing over, she notices the muscle in his jaw clenching and unclenching. The tension is palpable now, building as they draw closer to their destination.

“So what’s the plan?” when they reach the door of the apartment. “Okay then,” she mutters as he doesn’t stop but simply kicks it in.

It hardly takes anytime at all. With Raymond leaving no room for doubt what would happen if the gunmaker does not cooperate, he is more than willing to give up his client. Within minutes they are back in the car with Wendigo’s last known address and he is once more driving much too fast.

“You need to slow down,” she says again and hears his sharp intake of breath.

“I am well aware—”

“You know, I feel bad about this,” she interjects suddenly, giving the phone she palmed earlier a toss before catching it deftly with her other hand.  “I like to return what I steal.”

He takes his eyes off the road for a brief moment to turn a quizzical eye toward her.

“In order to keep my skills sharp, I do the occasional lift from whoever is convenient, then pretend they dropped the item on the ground or if I’m in the mood for an extra challenge, I slip it into another pocket. It’s very amusing at times.”

She is grinning when he looks over, and they sense the tension lessening to a more manageable level.

“Are you telling me you routinely pick pockets? Whose, for instance?”

He can’t help himself. When they should be discussing their approach to the assassin’s apartment and how best to breach it….but in truth they weren’t discussing much of anything. There is only the anger building and the urgency to eliminate this enemy. No doubt she is attempting to distract him and damn if it isn’t working.

“Well, everyone at the Post Office at one time or the other. People I’m next to in line. You.”

“Me?” he asks in utter astonishment.

Her laughter fills the car. “Yes, you. Many times, as a matter of fact. Last week when you dropped your money clip in that bookshop was the most recent.”

“Lizzy, you’re a thief!” he exclaims remembering all the times he has fumbled about looking for something in a particular pocket and finding it not where he thought he had placed it.

“How can it be stealing if I return it right away? Besides, it’s just for practice,” she finishes rather haughtily but he can tell she is quite pleased with herself.

Yes, just what he needed as they continue at a safer speed and one not likely to draw attention. He begins going over the strategy in his mind, how best to gain entry, telling himself to calm down.

“You’re good for me, you know that?”

Whatever amused response she would have made goes unsaid as she glances over and studies his profile, realizing they’ve moved past the lightness of a moment ago. The strangest feeling settles over her and it takes a minute to place it’s origin, but it is rooted in the brownstone and the life she left behind there. The one brought about by deceit and she recalls how the imposter made her believe it was his simple life, his work that brought something good to hers instead of the other way round. Part of his manipulation that she believed until she couldn’t believe anything more.

With a shake of her head, the memories fade and she reaches out to run the back of her hand across his cheek before dropping it to his shoulder.

“No,” she says quietly. “We’re good for each other.”

“I like the sound of that.” They pull to the curb a half block from Wendigo’s apartment building and Raymond turns toward her. “And in that spirit how about you pick the lock and I’ll keep watch?”

“Okay, let’s go.”

The best laid plans and she thinks they just might gain the upper hand when the shotgun blast erupts through the door by her head. From then on it is pure instinct that takes over as Raymond kicks in the door and they see the assassin escaping out the window. She follows, calling for him to take the stairs and gives chase across one rooftop after another before Wendigo jumps the space between buildings. He is attempting to find some sort of footing along the opposite wall when she reaches the ledge.

Raymond arrives seconds later, offering the man a hand and she leans forward attempting to hear their conversation.

_I’m not the only one. There are more and they are coming._

_Who’s coming?_

She can do nothing to help as Raymond strains to hold the man’s full body weight.

_You can’t stop them._

_Who?_

There is no seeing the man’s expression from her vantage point but she can hear his laugh drift across to where she stands.

He pauses, giving Wendigo a chance to answer before releasing him from his grip. They stare at each other across the void with the body of the assassin far below. Not the only one but simply the first. Without word they turn and within minutes she is climbing back through the window of the apartment where Raymond is waiting.

She walks straight to him and pulls him close.

“We should go,” she finally mumbles into his chest.

“Not yet.”

He won’t let her go so quickly this time. Not like before in the car when he could only think of eliminating this threat to Lizzy’s life yet now she is in even greater danger. He listens for any sound of disturbance but there is only their breaths coming in rapid succession. No sirens approaching and with the relative seclusion of where the man fell he doubts anyone was witness to it.

“We need to get out of the city, Raymond. Get Dembe and go,” she says, pulling back.

“Yes.”

“Good.” She exhales with relief, afraid he would want her to leave without him and imagining the argument that would follow. “Look around for his phone and computer. We may be able to find out who he was talking about.”

“Why don’t you call Aram and let him know we may be dealing with a bounty on your head. Have him start searching the dark web. And Lizzy,” he continues as she steps away, pulling the phone from her pocket. “Tell him to get someone here quickly for the body. We don’t want a child stumbling upon it.”

“I...yes, of course,” she agrees, realizing she hadn’t stopped to think of the playground within view from the building.

She watches him as he moves around the apartment. So different from the persona not to mention the imposter that briefly came to her mind before. She hopes there is never a day when she no longer notices.

* * *

They’ve known many such instances both before his surrender and since this strange odyssey began. The moment of realization when there is no going back, no escape from the terrible certainty of what is before them.

When he learned of her marriage to Tom and the night she discovered the truth about her husband. Her father calling to tell her of his diagnosis. The betrayal that tore his family away. The world tilting in an instant sending them reeling, changing their lives forever.

When Mr. Vargas emerges from the towncar instead of Dembe their steps falter, first Raymond’s and then her own. The slight shake of his head comes just as the unthinkable passes through their minds.

It cannot be.

She would give anything to know what to say to him, to take away his pain and add it to her own. Perhaps if it wasn’t so overwhelming, so incomprehensible they would have noticed. Some sign of the betrayal and the peril awaiting them in the airport hanger would have penetrated their sorrow.

It’s much too quiet.

A few steps from the car and they recognize the trap that has been set. He is the first to pull his weapon as the hanger fills with Cabal operatives and she follows suit, going to stand behind him.

No escape.

The possibility of this end is not unfamiliar to them. It’s not even shocking so often has a scenario such as this run through their minds. It is the reason she called him back earlier and the reason he did the same.

There is nothing left unsaid.


	37. Peril - Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline 3.5 
> 
> Many, many thanks for reading and commenting. Hope you enjoy!

_All you have is your fire_  
_And the place you need to reach_  
_Don’t you ever tame your demons_  
_But always keep them on a leash_

* * *

Liz is trying to recall the last time he looked at her. Really looked and not past her, distracted by the day’s events. In the car on the way to the hanger? No, he had only stared mutely out the window while she searched for a single word of comfort after the news of Dembe. There were none and she finally laid her hand over his where it gripped the seat between them, the white of his knuckles the only sign of his agony. He held on so tightly but hadn’t turned, not willing to take the risk of losing his composure when she was in such grave danger.

Was it in the park as they waited for Dembe, believing every moment he was alive and making his way to them? Raymond was too restless though, preferring to walk the perimeter, planning an escape should they need one. No, she must go further back. The rooftop when they were separated by the void that claimed the assassin or after in his apartment? That’s it, she realizes. When she climbed back through the window and Raymond was there waiting.

It’s doubtful she would ever have recalled that brief moment when he smiled at her before she walked into his arms had it not been for the flash of the knife. Now that every second is drawing out longer and longer as she struggles to break free, it comes to her in perfect clarity. That little half smile as familiar as his touch. She wonders if he is aware of it since it seems so instinctual, but it is rooted in his feelings for her before either had acknowledged the emotion. Before her own grew to meet it. That’s what she needs now, not the vision of what Solomon will do to her.

_Even if you shoot me, even if your girlfriend gets off a shot or two, you’re both going to die._

Solomon has no concept of what they are to one another, what has brought them together. The anger surged within her and she swung the gun to Vargas, to the betrayer. The first to die if she had been able.

_Your girlfriend._

The reason Raymond was the first to lower his weapon.

_You’re both going to die._

The reason he entreated her to do the same.

She knows him so well. The last hope coursing through him is to bargain for her life, trade his own for her freedom but it’s blood they want. First hers as she was forced to the table where her life will end, followed by Raymond’s. They tried, god knows they tried and the tears burn behind her eyes as she fights against the men pinning her down.

_Call the Director. Tell him I’ll give him everything I’ve been collecting, all the evidence against him. Call him!_

There is a tremble in his voice she has never heard before and it hurts her more than anything the knife will ever do. She can’t look at him no matter how desperately she wants to, can only listen to the struggle as he is held in place in the chair so he can be witness to her demise.

A patch of blue catches her eye beyond the hanger door. Bright and clear and she imagines the place she wanted for them. Wide open sky all the way to the horizon. Safe. It is so achingly out of reach.

Solomon’s words flow over her without meaning, but the blade traveling the length of her body she understands perfectly.

_Solomon! Solomon!_

She wants to tell him not to watch, to find some image of her and hold it close. She wants to tell him so many things but the important words have been spoken. The world doesn’t care that she wants more. More time. More of him. More of everything.

Is it selfish? Is she taking something from him in these final moments by not turning toward him? There are no answers, only the certainty that her last view of him should not be this abject terror. Nor his of her. Whatever becomes of her afterwards, she doesn’t want to carry that with her. She’ll take the memory of the smile that always greets her, every time like the first time.

They should have had a better ending and the sky blurs at the thought. As hard as they fought, to have it come to this is the most difficult part.

Only a few seconds.

They are coming faster now.

She hears it then as the knife rises the final time. This guttural, primal thing, like a wrenching apart. It could only be Raymond. Only someone who loves her could summon it.

* * *

He’s known men like Solomon before, too many to count after a lifetime in the underworld. Men who can’t be bargained with, who simply love the sport of the kill. He bargains anyway.

_Let her go. My resources are at your disposal._

But there is nothing he can offer to change the course of what is coming. Nothing he can do when she is brought to the table and made to lie back. It sickens him, the position they’ve placed her in and he struggles against the ties binding his wrists and the men holding him in place.

_Oh, you’ll give me what I need. I’m certain of that._

Nausea followed by panic. He has seen too many horrors for the worst possible images not to assault him and the restraints cut deeper. The men pull his arms behind in what seems an impossible angle. There is no escape.

_Call the director. Call him!_

_You don’t need to concern yourself with the Director anymore. You’re in my care now, Reddington._

He has nothing they value as he is slammed into the chair, the gun planted in the center of his chest. Only his life left to give and even that isn’t enough.

The loss of control is staggering. If not for the chair beneath him he feels certain he would fall. He already is, watching the knife move above her and hearing the words that follow. Unspeakable horrors made to play out before him.

_Solomon! Solomon!_

He would walk into a thousand fires to save her but it makes no difference. Nothing left and with every ounce of strength remaining, he erupts from the chair. All the rage and despair for what will never be propels him forward. He’ll take the blade, take whatever comes and hope they fall together.

It is indistinguishable from the roar in his ears. So focused on closing the distance to her, he doesn’t hear the hanger alarm or see the flashing lights until he is pulled up short by the men at his side. Their hesitation is brief enough for him to land a kick and struggle from their grasp.

So close. She is so close.

His eyes never leave her. Not when the first shot is fired from somewhere over his shoulder nor with the ones that follow. Not as the Cabal operatives drop one by one or Solomon disappears from view. He reaches her as she turns away from the direction of gunfire and he leans over, letting her know he is near. Urging her closer, fearing she will lose her balance and slip from the table. If he could only touch her but the restraints won’t allow it.

_Are you okay?_

_Yes._

He feels his entire world held there in that simple word of reassurance as she moves back toward him. At what point he realizes it is Dembe who opened fire, he will never know, but unbelievably he is there to cut the wrist ties, finally freeing Raymond to finish what his friend has started. To put a bullet into Vargas and it takes all his self-control not to empty the clip into the man’s chest.

When they couldn’t save one another, it was Dembe who found a way. It is Dembe who now falls.

* * *

The knock is quiet but firm.

“Lizzy, may I come in.”

She already knows why he has sought her out. His contact has responded with the location of Arioch Cain and it is time for them to leave. Time to track down the individual who put a bounty on her head and then perhaps they can be done with this day.

But it isn’t herself she is thinking of, it is Dembe still in surgery and they should be there. She told him as much when the ambulance pulled away, only he wouldn’t hear of it. His mouth drawing into a thin line left little room for argument as he placed a call to Aram. The last thing she wanted to do was fight after what had transpired. She relented and he walked away, giving orders to his men to secure the building. It was then she understood. He is still saving her life.

So there was no argument when her death was faked and leaked to the press. No time to think that it could have been her own blood covering the hanger floor when she lay down in a pool of it for the photos to be taken. Not a word when Mr. Kaplan splattered some across her chest for effect. No reaction as it seeped into her clothes and hair, until the metallic taste of it was in the air she breathed.

She watched him. Through it all she observed the consummate strategist and marveled at his composure. Wondering when the cracks would begin to show, if ever. She watched, until she couldn’t stand the blood a second longer and slipped away, locking herself in the restroom. Only a few minutes to pull herself together but those minutes have come and gone a while ago.

“Lizzy?”

He’s worried now. Is there no end to the pain this day will inflict?

With a sigh, she pushes herself from the wall where she has been leaning and unlocks the door.

“You have the address?” she asks, once he enters and closes the door behind him.

“Yes.”

It took only a glance in the mirror for the dizziness to come. Mr. Kaplan certainly made her fatal injury appear…..authentic. She had chosen the steadiness of the wall until she felt more in control but with Raymond now sharing the small confines of the room and studying her so intently, she resolutely steps to the sink.

“I’m sorry about that,” he murmurs, indicating the blood spray across her chest and neck. “If there was another way—“

“But there wasn’t. For the bounty to be paid, I had to die. It’s difficult to look at, though.”

“Then don’t look.” He comes to stand behind her, and turns her gently from the mirror. “Close your eyes.”

“Raymond, I can—”

“Stop arguing.”

She smiles and closes her eyes. The turn of the faucet follows and the water is cool against her skin as he takes away the evidence of her  _death_. When her shirt drops off her shoulder, she instinctively tilts her head to the opposite side, feeling his hand brush her hair back. The other he keeps firmly around her upper arm as if worrying she might drift away again.

When she waited for his breaking point, it was hers that came first and she lets him hold her together.

“Elizabeth.” She opens her eyes to his smile, as if he is seeing her for the first time. “That’s better. Mr. Kaplan is arranging a safe house. You’ll feel back to yourself after a shower.”

“I’m already better,” she says quietly, looking at the expression that would have been her last memory in this world only a short time ago, but somehow it isn’t. Here is another to greet her when she returns to the living. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Stop arguing.”

“Okay.”

What argument is there when her hands reach up to his face to pull him forward into the lightest kiss. One that lingers, stealing a few extra seconds for them. When she steps back there is fire in her eyes.

“Now let’s go deal with that bastard Arioch Cain.”

Softness wrapped in steel. Stronger than she knows. She will need to be for the final confrontation of this long day. Without a word she takes the keys from his hand as they approach the car and soon they are speeding down the highway. A little too fast and with a quiet  _Lizzy_ once or twice they manage to arrive at the nondescript suburban house without drawing anyone’s notice.

“Raymond, don’t lose your temper when we get in there,” she cautions as they charge up the walkway to the front door.

“I was about to say the same to you.”

“Duly noted. Just remember we need information if there is a connection to the Director.”

He recalls how near he came to losing her and thinks information isn’t all he needs but with a breath, attempts to control his anger.

Whatever or whoever they imagined this unknown enemy to be, they would never have believed them a teenage girl. And suddenly there is understanding of the chaos of the day. The daughter of a woman killed in the bombing for which Elizabeth had been framed.

Raymond can only stand to the side and marvel as Lizzy talks with her. Unwavering until the bounty is removed from her name, but afterwards she remains. There is still the profiler behind the mask of the fugitive and she can’t leave it there. Not when she so completely understands the destructive bitterness of loss and putting into motion events that spiral out of control. Quiet words, some of which he cannot hear, but they are for this broken girl. They are for Elizabeth and her hope that one more life won’t be destroyed by The Cabal. It is all she has left to give.

They walk out to a beautiful clear night that seems completely at odds with what they have been through. Even in darkness he can sense the change in her before her step falters. The profound exhaustion that comes at the close of battle and he immediately slips an arm around her waist.

“Did you just pick my pocket?” she asks in surprise.

With a chuckle, he gives the keys in his hand a jingle and squeezes her waist. “My turn to drive.”

She will gladly let him, feeling her last reserves of energy leaving her. When they are in the car he calls Mr. Kaplan for an update and it is evident from his side of the conversation that Dembe’s surgery went as well as could be expected. They must wait and see, but knowing his condition is stable, she makes a decision.

“I want you to call Baz and have him meet us along the way. He can take me to the safehouse.” When he makes no reply she continues, “You’re going to see Dembe tonight. I would go if I could.”

She finishes softly, the fatigue heavy in her voice now.  

“Lizzy, why don’t I—”

“Raymond, I want you to do this. I need to shower and sleep and you need to see Dembe. You’ll call me if I should come.”

He supposes they are both learning to pick their battles and so he will do as she asks even though the thought of leaving her alone gnaws at him.

“And you will do the same?”

“That’s a promise.”

It’s settled then. He places the call and within a few miles they are pulling onto a side street where Baz is waiting.

* * *

He’s almost silent when he enters the bedroom hours later, but it doesn’t matter. She’s awake and has been since finally lying down not all that long ago. Her relief is immediate. She will admit to feeling quite disconcerted when Baz pulled up in front of the mansion and she had looked at him in shock.

_You’re joking?_

_Mr. Kaplan said she couldn’t find anything smaller on such short notice._

She had laughed at the absurdity of it but after making her way to the second floor suite, she felt very much alone. The shower didn’t help as much as she would have expected. Not with the blood from her hair mixing with the water at her feet. A stark reminder of her  _death_ only a few hours previously and her sense of isolation only grew.

When he switches on the bathroom light, she calls out to him, “Raymond, is everything alright?”

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

She sits up, her eyes following him as he approaches with the light from behind casting him in shadow. Gone are his jacket and Fedora as well as his customary tie. With his vest unbuttoned, she is wondering if he was able to rest at the mobile hospital. One look in his eyes when he sits, when she is able to see his expression is the answer to her question.

“I wasn’t asleep,” she murmurs, reaching a hand up to his cheek, feeling the stubble lightly scratch her palm. “You’re exhausted.”

“Yes.” He lets out a breath and takes her hand to hold in his lap.

“Tell me about Dembe.

“The same. Stable but guarded condition. They’ll know more tomorrow.”

Very guarded apparently but he will leave the details for later. The seriousness of the injury could not be appreciated until Raymond had spoken with the surgeon. The trajectory of the bullet entering through his side only compounded the betrayal. Vargas next to him followed by a gunshot that Dembe probably never saw coming.

“I didn’t expect you back tonight. Did they kick you out?”

He blinks away the image of Dembe falling and attempts to focus on the present. “Kate came to sit with him and that settled it.”

“I expected as much,” she says with a smile.

His voice drops to a whisper when he continues, lost in thought, “She said I needed to go home…”

To this safehouse for one reason only. Elizabeth. Because she is home to him and his oldest friend would know that only she could begin to mend the trauma of the last twenty-four hours.

There is a squeeze of her hand at his words and he looks down to where it is linked with his.

“I’m glad you’re here.” More than she can easily express but she understands the need that draws them together. The reason she could not rest tonight but instead walked the massive house until her body simply could not go any further. The reason her mind would not be still. “Go take a shower and come to bed.”

He doesn’t want to let go but she is right. After a moment, he gets up and enters the bathroom leaving the door open allowing the small amount of light to stay in the bedroom. She lies back listening as the water turns on, grateful to Mr. Kaplan for insisting he come back to her.

She is relaxing more and more and feels sleep will claim her as soon as he returns. The water is soothing, drawing her further towards what she hopes will be a dreamless rest until…..she sits up with a start. The mansion is silent except for the sound of the shower and her breaths coming quicker.

What was it she heard?

Baz and the security team are patrolling the grounds with additional security stationed at the mobile hospital. The Cabal will not be making a surprise return this night.

So what could have disturbed her?

She glances at the clock and then slowly looks toward the light from the bathroom. He’s taking too long. Such a simple thing but her subconscious somehow realized it. Even before they shared a bed she became aware of this quirk in his morning routine. The fastest shower time this side of a Naval cruiser. 

He laughed out loud when she broached the subject a few days after they began running from the FBI.  _Old habits die hard, Lizzy, and besides the two minute shower does benefit the criminal lifestyle greatly, it must be said._

She had rolled her eyes, but it did not stop her amazement at his ability to shave, shower and don innumerable layers in the time it took for her to find her robe and stumble to the coffee maker.

The quiet is interrupted only by the water running on and on and she knows he finally reached his breaking point. Not at the moment of impact but hours later when the world is asleep except for his demons. Without a second thought she walks to the bathroom, pulling her night clothes off along the way.

He’s there beyond the glass facing away from her, leaning into his outstretched arms braced against the tiled wall. The tension in his body is palpable all the way to his hands clenched into fists. She hesitates for the first time. Even now, even after what they have shared, there are still parts of himself that he guards closely. A habit decades in the making, this retreat within. She knows there are things he will never disclose, that his first instinct will be to hide away what harms him. This mode of self preservation she can accept, but he will not do it alone.

His head raises only a fraction when she steps in, softly closing the shower door behind her. The water is trailing a tortuous path through the fire damaged skin of his back and it is here that she steps. Here where she places her hands.

These are only the first. There are many wounds that mar his body. Some are familiar like the faint mark on his neck the size of a pen or where the bullet entered his chest. Others she will never know the history. His silence or the shake of his head made it clear those are unspeakable, but her hands will always seek them out, to soothe the old ache. They do so now as they travel around his torso. It is the scars she can’t see that worry her most and she tightens her hold.

And waits.

Not long until a hand unclenches and moves down to cover hers. Softly, as his thumb tracks back and forth. He doesn’t see her smile, only feels the pressure increase as she draws him nearer.

She waits.

Just a minute before he turns and he wishes there were words enough.

“Elizabeth.”

A whisper and shake of his head. Unspeakable. How the nearness of loss holds its own devastation. He wouldn’t know where to start and so her name will be the beginning and the ending of it. At least for now.

“I know,” she says, with the slightest shrug of her shoulders.

Words that can wait for another time if they ever come at all. Relief as he enfolds her in his arms. He doesn’t hear the soft  _shhh_ hidden in the fall of water but that they are here at all, is all that matters.


	38. Remedy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline: post 3.5
> 
> I intended to go straight into 3.6 but then this happened.

_You say you’ll give me eyes in a world of blindness_  
_A river in a time of dryness_  
_A harbour in the tempest_

* * *

“I’m going to destroy you.”

“Your hubris will be your downfall, Lizzy. This is your first warning.”

“I have a few suggestions where you can stick your warning,” she says prettily.

His eyes narrow as they size each other up from across the dining table in what quickly becomes a staring contest with each thinking they’ll be damned if they blink first. The standoff is finally interrupted by a quiet snicker off to the side.

“Anytime you two are ready, I’ll be claiming the race car as well as first roll.”

“Then I’ll choose the top hat,” she replies to Dembe without taking her eyes off Raymond.

She can’t sustain her composure when his mouth drops open in confusion. With a laugh, she tosses him the small metal token and selects the Scottie dog instead. “You are too easy, Reddington.”

“We’ll see about that,” he mutters, but she doesn't miss the amusement behind his eyes.

There is quite a lot that Dembe doesn't miss as he rolls the dice, but he makes no comment and they are soon lost in the game. It’s not long, however, until Liz realizes this is not the Monopoly of her memory. Gone are the rent and mortgage payments which have been replaced with bribes, extortion and all out larceny.

“Raymond, you can't just steal from Dembe.”

“He's been sent to jail,” he replies smugly. “That makes Reading Railroad fair game.”

Not to mention their propensity for renaming the properties around the board after an assortment of criminal enterprises.

“What’s this for?” she asks after Dembe inexplicably hands her a thousand dollars from the bank.

“You landed on Bonnie and Clyde’s Dive,” he answers without hesitation.

“So I’m robbing the bank?” She actually landed on Tennessee Avenue but who is she to argue. “Cool.”

Raymond laughs at her response and on it goes. They’ve obviously played many times over the years and added the criminal element along the way. She will admit after several rounds of the board, there is a logic to it and she can’t deny the pleasure of blatantly ignoring the tax bill or blackmailing her way past the jailer. Perhaps she shouldn’t find it so amusing considering her current  _Most Wanted_  status but it’s difficult not to. Especially with the lengths Raymond and Dembe go in order to out-maneuver the other for which she has no hope of keeping up with.

“Who owns Marvin Gardens?” as she scoots the Scottie dog there for the first time.

“That’s Ernie’s Shiver Shack,” Raymond answers with nothing short of glee. “And I’m the owner of that establishment.”

“Shiver Shack? He puts people on ice for a price?”

“Lizzy, you’re a natural,” he chuckles. “Five hundred dollars if you please.”

“I have two hundred dollars and a dog. Take it or leave it.”

He takes it and she finds herself penniless and bested fair and square. She sits back and watches the antics for a little while and can’t help but steal a few glances Dembe’s way as she has done all evening. The game seemed a bit too tiring for his first day after leaving the mobile hospital but it was his suggestion. A distraction to fill the quiet of the mansion they are using as a safe house and a way to keep his mind occupied from thoughts of the torture he endured. Something to dampen the rage he must feel at what The Cabal did to his daughter and her child.

Only some of the events are known to her. There has been a line she was not willing to cross during this time of his recovery, an instinct that told her when to stay with them and the one she listened to when it urged her to leave the two friends to themselves. She knows enough from Dembe and what Raymond has shared with her to conclude there must already be operatives hunting Solomon. There will come a day when Raymond will tell her it is done and beyond that she has no desire to know the details.

She smiles when Dembe steals back the railroad and is glad they can forget the unimaginable even for a short time. To gain some distance from how close they came to losing everything.

The feeling that she should leave comes back to her and she studies Dembe for a few seconds. There is the fatigue he cannot hide as well as a grimace of pain. Yes, time to go and give them the opportunity to speak privately should they wish. With a stretch, she gets up from the table.

“Well, since the illegal version of Monopoly seems just as long as the legal, I think I’ll go to bed.”

Raymond, who is in the midst of counting his money, says rather absentmindedly, “Lizzy, I’ll be along in a little while.”

“I, uh….”

Dembe is suddenly grinning rather broadly at her and Raymond seems oblivious to having spilled the beans on their new sleeping arrangement.

“Yes...you do that,” she finally manages with a smile and roll of her eyes. “Goodnight, Dembe. Try and get some rest.”

“And you as well.”

Good lord. He is most definitely amused and she can’t help the feeling of relief that follows. Silly perhaps but his approval is important to her, though she hadn’t realized how much until just then. She is still laughing softly when she walks upstairs.

By the time Raymond joins her, she is in bed reading. “How is he?” she asks, before he is more than a step inside the room.

“Better, I think.”

“You think?”

He gives her a smile as he drops his vest on the chair before walking into the bathroom.

“He’s better,” he reiterates, loud enough for her to hear.

She listens to the water turning on as he begins his nighttime routine and calls out to him, “Did he change the bandage on his wound? I left all the supplies in his room.”

He steps into the doorway with toothbrush in hand and all the patience in the world. “He saw them earlier.”

“And he knows he can call us if he needs anything? This house is so damn big.”

“He knows and besides, Baz is walking the perimeter tonight.“

She’s worrying her bottom lip and he waits there in the doorway until she says quietly, “I’m just so relieved he’s….”

“I’m am too, Lizzy,” he finishes when she trails off.

Only when her features have relaxed does he step back, but again she calls out to him, “So, tell me.”

“Tell you what?” is the muffled reply as he determinedly finishes brushing his teeth.

“What he said.”

“Who?”

“Raymond, out with it.”

“What?”

“You know.”

He finally walks out of the bathroom and comes to sit by her after she scoots over to make room. “Lizzy, this is a fun game but enlighten me.  _Who_  said  _what_  about  _which_?”

She laughs and reaches out to fiddle with one of the buttons of his dress shirt. It is her turn to be patient as she repeats her question.

“What did Dembe say about...you know,  _this_ ,” as her hand moves back and forth in the space between them.

His laughter is immediate.

“Come on, tell me.”

“Well, he may have muttered something along the lines of  _about damn time_ but I’m really not sure.”

Her sigh is deep and resonating.

“Followed by he  _knew it all along_ ,” he continues, trying to remain serious. “Lizzy, I must say this seems very much like high school all of a sudden.”

With a smile, she relaxes back into the pillows. “It does. God, it feels good for a change.”

He moves closer dropping a kiss or two along her jaw. “Speaking of feeling good—”

“Hey,” she stops his progress with a hand on his chest, pushing him back. “Who ended up winning the game?”

He recoils dramatically and moves around her to flop onto his back. “Ah yes, that high school angst. I remember it well.”

Her laughter follows with her as she leans over him. “There’s always the next time.”

And they stay like that as the seconds add up, grateful for even the chance of a  _next time_  for all of them. She is watching him watch her and attempting to decipher all the emotion behind his eyes. Wondering at the secrets there when he reaches up to brush her hair back from her face.

“He said,  _you have found your future, my friend. Do not let it go.”_

“Who is  _he_?” because she can’t resist.

“Now don’t start that again.”

Dembe’s words replay in her mind as she fixes this moment in her memory, wanting to recall it years from now when they are on the other side of what lies ahead of them. Wondering what that future will look like. There are only fleeting images, the ones that come to her and help propel her forward. Like the fantasy she recounted to him on the stage of the little theater. The wishes of a girl that stayed with the woman she became. A husband. A child. Something to hold onto and never let go.

What she had once thought she found until it disappeared in a cloud of betrayal. The recollection does no harm now. It only reinforces what is real and what was not. Proof of the permanence she has found after the turmoil of the past, that will not lessen no matter how the fantasy unfolds.

“What are you thinking of?” he asks, softly.

“That I’m glad we’re here. No matter what has happened or what is coming, I would not change this.”

His hand slips behind, pulling her closer as he places her words where they can be found again. When he will need the strength he draws from her. When he will want to give it in return.

It comes to her later. The last question as she relaxes into his side, falling into sleep.

“Raymond?” she whispers, afraid she will forget to ask it.

“Mmmm?”

“What did you say to him in response?”

“Who?”

“Tell me.”

“What?”

She laughs and runs a hand across his chest, holding him closer. “I give up.”

“I told him…” The merest pause as his fingers light a path along her skin. “ _I feel alive.”_

The words drawing out, each one a revelation like he is saying them again for the first time. As if he suddenly became aware of his own heartbeat after such a long silence.

“Oh, you’re definitely alive,” she says with a stretch, her body still humming from his touch.

His soft chuckle makes her smile into the darkness, a gift after what occurred in the hanger. His words enfold her as tangible as his arms, defining what draws them together. They’ve brought each other back to the living.

* * *

It is just crossing his mind to walk upstairs and check on her when she finally shuffles into the kitchen. He smiles seeing her wearing his undershirt and robe he left on the end of the bed, knowing she’d steal them anyway.

“Morning,” she mumbles, coming to stand by him at the counter after giving a small wave to Dembe sitting at the table.

He greets her with a kiss on the cheek and a cup of coffee. “How’d you sleep?”

“Very well.”

He catches her small smile before it disappears behind the mug, one he returns knowing the reason for it. The same reason it was so damn difficult to leave her this morning, but he starts his day with updates from Mr. Kaplan and his other sources and now is not the time to let even the smallest opportunity go by. They are tracking Solomon and monitoring the Director, looking for the next chance to strike a blow.

But there is also Dembe’s recovery which is no less important to him.

“Lizzy, we were just discussing driving to see Isabella and the baby. They are being moved to a new safe house tomorrow and Dembe should see them before they go.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea,” she replies, already thinking of their drive ahead, not even knowing the exact location only that it is somewhere in Pennsylvania. “It’ll take a few hours to get there probably. You should get going.”

“Elizabeth, I would like very much for you to join us.”

Dembe makes the quiet request from across the room and Liz immediately gives Raymond a shove.

“Why didn’t you wake me up? We could have been there by now.” She throws a small glare his way before turning a smile toward Dembe. “And yes, I would love to come. Thank you.”

“Lizzy, we don’t need to start every journey at the break of dawn,” he smiles, thinking of the first morning he woke to find her not in bed next to him but planning a trip instead.

“Look, you just go get some blankets and pillows for the backseat so he can stretch out. Are you staying the night?” she asks, with a glance at Dembe.

“I hadn’t thought—”

“You may want to after several hours in the car, plus it will give you more time with them. We can send Baz tomorrow to pick you up.”

“Yes, that will work very well,” he agrees with the nod of his head.

“Good. I’ll be ready by the time you pack.”

She’s gone, taking her coffee with her and leaving them to their instructions.

“Raymond, I think we better get a move on.”

“As quickly as possible or there’ll be hell to pay,” he finishes with a smile.

By the time they are in the car and on the way, Dembe is looking forward to the extra day he will spend with his family and Raymond is relieved when his friend is finally able to nap in relative comfort. He and Lizzy are quiet during the drive, not wanting to disturb Dembe but also content to simply be. After more than a week back and forth between the safehouse and mobile hospital, a country drive is just the thing.

It’s a day that surprises her. Like the handful she has tucked away that she will look back on when she wonders how they made it through, how they reached the end of the journey somehow intact, not broken beyond repair. And even though they are not yet there, the hope is that it will be so. Whatever the extraordinary circumstances that led here, it is the normality that sustains them. The same way a game of Monopoly or a movie one rainy evening prevents them slipping too far into darkness.

Perhaps it is the reunion and emotion that followed. The first chance for Isabella to see her father since she was moved to safety after Dembe regained consciousness and communicated to Raymond what had taken place. Or Dembe’s emotion at seeing his granddaughter safe again. Maybe it is the baby that they all gravitate to in one way or the other. Raymond making funny faces at her to earn a smile or the emotion Lizzy catches in his expression when she is walking a very sleepy Elle back and forth until she gives in and closes her eyes. There is something wistful there and just a little bittersweet. She wants to tell him not to worry about her, that the memory of the adoption she stopped is behind her. How can it hurt her when everything she longs for is ahead of them? Perhaps it is what he longs for that plays out across his face, but that is a secret for another day.

“Let’s go swing,” he says after dinner, taking her hand and leading her out the backdoor.

“Uh, okay.”

And then the wooden swing comes into view at the side of the garden, big enough for two and all the entertainment they need to watch the day fade away.

“I like this better than the mansion,” she muses, looking at the farmhouse with a smile.

“I do too, Lizzy.” He throws an arm around her shoulders and they glide back and forth for a while, lost in thought.

“Do you know where they are going?”

“No, it’s better for only Mr. Kaplan to have the details. Somewhere out west.”

The thought of Isabella and her child being sent away for god knows how long is intolerable to her.

“We have to fix this, Raymond. This can’t go on.”

“I know and we will.”

She wants to ask  _how?_  and he is glad she doesn’t. There isn’t a next step yet but he is certain it will come. Once Dembe has recovered enough they will find the way.

“Raymond, Elizabeth,” Dembe calls from the back porch. “We are cutting the pie.”

“Does that mean I have to move,” she asks, now that her legs are comfortably draped over his.

“One always moves for pie, Lizzy.”

She lets him pull her up, but he stops her progress towards the house with a slight tug of her hand. “I just realized I’ve never kissed you in Pennsylvania.”

“And that ranks above dessert?”

“Well now that you mention it, did you see what type of pie—”

“Come here,” she laughs and it is something else this day has given her besides a rather sensational kiss under the evening sky.

At last she understands Raymond’s joie de vivre that has both frustrated and enchanted her since she has known him. She could not have comprehended the need for it or appreciated these days had she not entered his world.

Something inside seems to spark, beyond what his touch is doing to her body. She wants more of this life just as she did when Solomon’s knife flashed above her. There must be a place where the rare and precious may become the norm. One thing is certain, she intends to find out.

They are in the car on the drive back to the mansion when the thought comes to her.

“Raymond, I need a few things. That is to say  _we_  need a few things.”

“And those are?”

“I want everything Caul has been working on regarding The Cabal and the Director. Hell, bring Leonard along. We certainly have enough room for him.”

“Okay, I’ll call him tomorrow.”

“And a whiteboard. A big one. We did quite well with one of those before didn’t we?”

Yes they did, he thinks. When they spent everyday sorting through the clues that led them from the imposter straight to Berlin. And something inside him takes hold of her resolve. He can sense the fog lifting. The one that descended in the hanger and has kept his thoughts scattered about as he sat by Dembe’s side in the mobile hospital.

He takes a hand from the steering wheel and reaches out, needing the feel of her.

“Anything else?” he asks as their fingers link together.

“Not that I can think of. It’s a start though.”

She will often wonder had it not been for a drive to Pennsylvania would the events to come have played out the way they did. Would it have taken longer to reach the conclusion? The Director could not have known what the outcome would be when he began his path of destruction all those years ago, but it is the years ahead that Raymond and Elizabeth are thinking of as they cross back into New York.

“It’s time to end this,” she says quietly.

“We’ll begin tomorrow, Lizzy.”

One last fight as their future is arriving.


	39. Resolve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline 3.6
> 
> Firstly, I’ve been looking forward to this one because any episode that involves stolen frozen thumbs and a bank vault heist ought to be fantastic. Sadly the writers forgot to invite Lizzy to the party so I changed a few things to include her in the fun. 
> 
> Secondly, we’ve reached the beginning of the end. The epilogue is written and I think it’s time to let Red and Liz go their way. As a little reminder, anything that takes place after 3.10 doesn’t apply to this fic. The Cabal is the big bad here with the Director the person that betrayed Red and set all the mythology events in motion. Time for him to settle up. 
> 
> Lastly, thought I’d bring back a couple old friends, namely the whiteboard from s1 and Leonard Caul. Thanks for reading!

_Sometimes I feel the pain_  
_At the heart of this ember_  
_All these ashes I choke on_  
_Does anyone remember_  
_Where we came from_  
_Where we came to_

* * *

Everything happens in rapid succession.

Dembe returns from seeing his family off as they go into hiding and there is barely time to ask him how he is feeling before Leonard Caul strolls through the front door.

“Elizabeth, where do you want me to set up?”

No nonsense as always, as if this is the most natural thing in the world and not a clandestine meeting to topple a ruthless shadow government. She would expect nothing less and gestures toward the left.

“Leonard, always a pleasure,” she replies. “You’ll find the library through there.”

He grunts in response and with a nod toward Dembe, adjusts the weight from the box he’s carrying before moving off in the direction she indicated.

She thinks back to those days in the dilapidated mansion where Raymond spent the majority of his time recovering from the shooting. When she met with him and Leonard as they picked apart the Fulcrum, sifting through its secrets. Where another secret was acknowledged and she smiles at the memory of the kiss by the river, but it fades almost immediately as the events that followed press in on her. The virus she was infected with and unknowingly transmitted to Senator Hawkins. The bomb that killed an entire CIA unit. Her  _crimes_.

Before they were able to strike back, she was framed and they lost all control…she lost all control. Her mind spirals through image after image. Connolly’s smile as he told her Raymond would be killed, pulling the trigger to save his life. Shooting the cop only days later and her descent into darkness. Raymond telling her of her mother. More trauma until she was numb from the onslaught. The shipping container comes to mind and the little theater. The rainy days at the beach that helped them hold on.

But the airplane hanger followed. Back and forth, darkness to light and back again. They have had enough and the resolve meets her once more. It is time to end it one way or another.

“What is this about then?”

Dembe’s question interrupts her thoughts. “As Raymond would say, it’s time to switch back to offense.”

They head to the library where Leonard and Raymond are already deep in conversation where Dembe moves to join them, but Liz stays near the door taking in the scene. She had asked for a whiteboard similar to the one they used to organize the clues that led from Tom to his employer. One of the few if not the only moment following the revelation about what her husband really was, where she felt anything close to the investigator and profiler she had been before learning of the betrayal. It was in that storage room where she and Raymond worked together, shifting clues around until at last the name emerged. Berlin. The only place of real strength she would know for months. And months after that.

It seemed the logical place to start again and so she made the request. She smiles at him as he’s talking, his hands moving about theatrically as they do and then glances to the three whiteboards that have been rolled into the room, each on its own stand, recalling their conversation.

_You don’t think this is a bit much?_

_No Lizzy, unfortunately I don’t. One we’ll use specifically for the Director, one for The Cabal in general and the last for the sundries that might pop up._

She moved closer, linking her arm through his.

_We make a great team, you know that?_

_I have heard it said, yes._

She had laughed and enjoyed the moment wanting it to last, knowing that very soon they would be immersed in what appears a never-ending battle. In the week that follows, she finds that she was not wrong.

Leonard seems more adept at working on the global structure of The Cabal and he soon begins laying out its hierarchy on his whiteboard. Liz studies the organization but it seems somehow too remote to her, too far removed the shambles of her life. She gravitates to the other end of the room where she places a picture of Peter Kotsiopulos, the Director of Clandestine Services, at the top of the board. For a day she does nothing but pace before it, going over all his crimes in her mind that feed her rage.

Raymond watches her from across the room but he doesn’t intrude. He has years of anger stored up with regards to this man and he leaves her alone until she is ready to invite him into her thoughts.

She does so the next day. Very early the next day.

He wakes to a cold bed and Lizzy nowhere in sight. She’s been gone awhile and as he squints at the clock he realizes she must have gotten back up only a few hours after they had gone to sleep. After he whispered into the darkness  _are you alright?_ and she moved nearer waiting for his arms to close around her.  _I’m trying to sort it in my mind, that’s all._

They didn’t speak anymore, both eventually drifting off and as he gets up to check on her, he thinks of what she said. Thinks of the last twenty-five years attempting to sort it in his mind and wondering if she is having any more luck with it than he.

She’s pacing again when what she wants is to be doing something. Isn’t that why she set up this little war room in the first place? Yet she paces while the smiling face of the Director looks on and her hatred burns. Back and forth and back again. No light to be had this time as she thinks back to the story Raymond told her of the past and taking a marker she walks to the center board and starts the list.

_Katarina_

The KGB operative tasked to seduce an intelligence officer and she glances back at Peter. Did The Cabal arrange that, playing both sides as Raymond theorized? She will probably never know.

_Raymond_

_Sam_

The first a member of Peter’s task force that grew suspicious of him and who enlisted the help of a trusted friend. Their confrontation with her mother that led to her confiding the truth, what she had discovered of The Cabal. The months they worked together, these three….friends as Raymond called them, gathering evidence in the hope of helping Katarina escape with her child to safety. With a shaking hand that she cannot control she adds the next name.

_Masha_

Hidden away in Nebraska with Sam after Peter learned he was compromised and provided evidence to the KGB that Katarina was working with the enemy while simultaneously doing the same to Raymond’s superiors. Framing them as she was framed. Destruction as powerful as the fire that swept through the house where her biological father secreted her away. The fight. The gunshot. The screaming. The beach at Cape May.

She closes her eyes as her hand rests against the board until she is able to go on.

_Jennifer_

_Carla_

Raymond’s family forced to flee their home when Peter sent Cabal operatives to kill him because framing him wasn’t enough. Better that he die so he would be unable to defend himself. How bitterly she looks again at the picture. Raymond lived but with his family hidden away by the government and the deal with Fitch secured, he could never offer a defense and he simply became the traitor and criminal they made him out to be.

_Elizabeth_

She falters at her name and looks above.  _Masha_ but they are not the same. That child’s life was taken away and another girl went with Sam. Too difficult to contemplate and she pushes past it in her mind.

The others are added quickly, fearing one will be forgotten, that somehow it is vital to have this list to look at and remember.

_Cooper_

_Dembe_

_Isabella_

_Elle_

What did Raymond say this board was for? The  _sundries_ , that’s what he called it. Peter would probably call them the unimportant casualties not worth mentioning. The lives that crossed his path before they were swept away, but he could not know the strength that comes from these names as she stares at each one.

A last look at the picture and her anger is finally in check, her grief put away again as she had to do when Raymond confided the story to her. That will come later and her focus shifts back to this man who has only ever destroyed. She’ll be damned if another name will be added with the rest.

She suddenly has the urge to return upstairs, rouse him from sleep and have him tell her everything he knows about Peter and their time on the task force. Every last detail he can remember so she can start to build the profile. To tell him they will find a way in hopes they will believe it. He’s left her to herself somehow knowing it is what she needed but now she needs only him.

Raymond is there when she turns toward the door and she smiles. Of course he would be there.

“I was just coming to wake you up.”

“I was just coming to check on you.”

She walks forward and he meets her, pulling her close, having arrived in the doorway as she wrote her mother’s name. Witnessing her pain as each was added and holding back to allow her to get through it.

“We can erase her name if…..you need to,” she mumbles into his shoulder.

His eyes search out the only one she could mean. His daughter.

“No, it is right that it should be there,” he murmurs.

When she pulls back to look at him, she makes the request that had prompted her to return upstairs. To have him tell her every detail so she can form a profile.

“Of course Lizzy, but will you do something for me?” he asks. “Will you try to sleep first?”

She suddenly feels as exhausted as the worry in his expression indicates. With a nod she steps out of his embrace, but stops when he doesn’t move, looking back to the list.

“You’ve found the right use for this board. They aren’t the sundries, the nameless,” he says quietly, finally turning to face her. “They are his debt to pay.”

It’s there in his voice. The anger that burns like hers but held in check all these years. Yes, it is time for a settling of accounts.

She extends her hand and he joins her, leaving the past for now, to walk upstairs and sleep.

* * *

They spend days in the library. Moves and countermoves. Consequences and risk.

All the while the list remains on the center board. They each find themselves drawn to it at one time or the other, even Leonard. The fallen and those that have somehow made it this far and they all bear witness to one simple truth. It is not so easy to survive or pay the price it demands.

It finds her again. The anger she struggles to control. The same emotion she now recognizes in Raymond or Dembe. It flares between them and keeps them there working into the night or rising early to begin again.

And always they come back to the list, as permanent as if it were carved in stone.

“Raymond, if you have Naomi hidden away and Jennifer is…..no longer under the protection of the Marshall’s Service, can’t we just remove him from the equation?”

“We need the Director to exonerate you, Lizzy. Unfortunately he stays in the equation for now.”

“Dammit.”

He smiles ruefully, understanding her impatience and on it goes.

Lizzy eventually returns to Leonard’s board and takes in the behemoth he has mapped out which seems insurmountable to her at first.  After a time, she can see a certain pattern to it and thinks with the Director gone and a few strategic strikes he has noted, the organization would likely be materially damaged.

“You know, I think you would make an excellent CI, Leonard. Passing this information to the right contact with the available resources could prove very successful.”

He grunts his usual answer, the one that she is never quite sure means  _yes_  or  _no_.

“Think about it. I have just the person in mind,” she finishes and moves back to the other end of the room where Raymond is smiling at her.

“Are you thinking of setting him up with Aram?” he whispers.

“What? I think they’d get along great together.”

She smiles as he laughs and elbows him in his side, but glancing back across the room, she grows more serious.

“This work must continue and knowing the task force would still be involved…”

They say no more even though there is a universe of questions running between them. What will come after her exoneration? When they are able to re-enter her world once more, will they want to? Will they be able to?

The answers will have to wait as they continue on and the day leads to the next.

“Leonard, who do you see taking over Peter’s seat at the table once he’s gone?” Raymond asks thoughtfully.

“I’d guess Laurel Hitchin.”

Lizzy looks up in shock from the papers she’s been sifting through. “The National Security Advisor? That’s just great.”

“Actually, it is,” Raymond muses. “She’ll be more than happy to throw him to the wolves at the first opportunity. “

“Or wolf.”

“Yes, I suppose one is all it takes.”

They watch each other a moment before she turns back to her papers, the silent understanding passing between them that the fate of the Director has already been decided.

And a day later….

“He’s not desperate enough,” she says quietly, almost to herself.

“What was that?”

“Raymond,” she says by way of an answer. “Don’t you have a secret stash hidden away in case you were to lose everything?”

He looks positively offended and she tries not to laugh.

“Well, if someone attacked your businesses, or somehow drained your accounts, don’t you have a rainy day fund?”

With the way his eyebrows are rising, he looks nothing short of stunned. “Lizzy, that is simply not possible. I’m diversified.”

She rolls her eyes and takes a deep breath. “Look—”

“Now if you’re asking if I think someone of Peter’s rather limited scope of view has squirreled away a tidy little sum, the answer is yes,” he replies, with feigned innocence.

“And I think a large portion is in one place. He likes to keep things close to the vest so to speak. Nothing flashy or overdone,” she continues with a rather pointed look his way, making him chuckle. “He’s not desperate enough to exonerate me. We take away his power  _and_  his escape plan then he’ll have no choice.”

“The vault in Montreal,” Dembe adds quietly from across the room.

“Yes, it is quite possible but without Andras Halmi we don’t stand a chance getting into it and he has all but disappeared.”

“He’s been taken,” Leonard mumbles from where he stands looking over his whiteboard.

Liz holds up her hands in front of her before anyone can speak. “Okay stop. Start over and tell me who Andras Halmi is.”

“An economist and close confidant to the Director. I happened to learn of a rather curious safety deposit box owned by Halmi and had been making plans to gain access to the vault room but it’s been one thing after another with an overzealous building inspector. Then Halmi vanished a few weeks ago and with everything that has happened….’

Raymond trails off and Leonard continues, still studying the board. “He was taken along with another of his profession and rank. Someone is collecting the most brilliant among us, both male and female. Halmi is the latest in a long line of disappearances. Find that ark and you’ll find your missing economist.”

The room goes completely silent except for Leonard moving a few scraps of paper around the board, seemingly unaware of the effect his words have had.

“My god, can’t anything be simple,” Raymond asks in astonishment a minute later. “And who do you suppose our Noah to be in this scenario?”

“My guess would be Crispin Crandall.”

“This gets better and better. I suppose I’ll need to call Donald so the task force can track down one elusive and altogether batty billionaire. How did this day suddenly go so wrong?”

“Now don’t be dramatic,” Lizzy says after finally finding her voice following this bizarre conversation. “Can’t we bypass Halmi?  I’m sure between the two of us—“

“No Lizzy, there’s a fail safe built into the lock box. We must have Halmi or more specifically his thumbs to gain access.”

“Please tell me we aren’t going to steal a man’s thumbs, Raymond.”

“I suppose that would depend on whether he is currently using them or not, but in general, nothing would surprise me at this point.”

She thinks his matter of fact reply quite at odds with the impending necessity of the thumb acquisition but perhaps she shouldn’t think of that just now.

“Looks like we’ll be taking a trip to Montreal though, and planning a heist.”

“Lizzy, you just found the upside,” he exclaims, returning her smile.

With a squeeze of her arm, he walks out of the room to place his phone call.


	40. Mischief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline 3.6

_I am by your side_  
_Don’t look back, keep running_  
_Keep running_  
_I’m running for you_

* * *

“Okay, drink. It’s Japanese matcha tea.” She waits expectantly until Dembe takes a sip. “It has seventeen times the antioxidants of wild blueberries and seven more than dark chocolate.”

“You will be fine, Elizabeth. He will make sure of it.”

“I thought I was taking care of you.”

And so she has been, in her way, these last few weeks. From a day or so after he woke in the mobile hospital and she tried to apologize for all this mess….but he wouldn’t let her finish, simply telling her nothing good comes from taking on the blame that should belong to others. She had wondered if his point of reference was Raymond but she said no more and instead has done the only thing she could think of. Make sure he is resting enough, letting him choose the menu every day or brewing medicinal teas.

“How’s the patient?” Raymond asks as he enters the cabin from the cockpit of the jet.

“Stubborn. Sweet, but stubborn,” she says with a smile.

Dembe has accepted her fussing, but there was no thought to his staying behind when they left for Montreal. Not when they are preparing to strike a blow at the one who bears the blame. Dembe’s anger toward the Director and his operative Mr. Solomon is as deep as hers and she refrained from making any comment about the trip being too much for him. They are all wounded in one way or the other and what they need now is to cause a little mischief or a lot depending on what is actually hidden away in that vault.

She leaves him to his tea and goes to join Raymond who is going over the diagram of the bank.

“Lizzy, it’s really just a stroke of luck,” he murmurs when she slides onto the bench seat next to him and looks at the blueprint he has laid out on the table. “The vault and all its offshoot rooms are below ground and the majority lie directly beneath the bank. However, over time as the bank consolidated with businesses taking over on either side, a small portion of those rooms are now outside that perimeter.”

“Enabling us to gain access from above. You mentioned an overzealous building inspector. Tell me about that.”

With an exasperated huff, he sits back. “What a nightmare. I purchased the business we needed but to simply begin building a pathway down to our target required a construction crew, one in my employ, mind you, and that required a permit from the city. Easy enough to obtain with a few payments here and there but then this inspector showed up and it’s been one thing after another. Apparently he actually expects us to build what we are permitted for.”

“Which is?”

“A bakery.”

“Wait, let me guess.  _Red’s Breads_.” She is laughing at the image and also his expression. “How fitting considering it’s the Director’s money we’re betting is stored away in that box.”

“Your wit never ceases to amaze.” He gives her a quick wink and looks back to the plans. “He’s a real problem. I’ve sent Marvin Gerard to deal with him but so far we’ve gotten nowhere.”

“Well, cheer up. We still need Andras Halmi’s thumbs to open the lock box and as of an hour ago we have no idea where he is or if Crispin Crandall had anything to do with his disappearance.”

“I need a drink.”

“No. You can have some of Dembe’s tea though.” She ignores his glower and rubs her hand up and down his arm before circling the target on the diagram with her finger. “We should focus on what we can control. Say we bypass the inspector. How long does the crew need to get us down to the room?”

“Less than a day.”

“Good. That’ll give us enough time to practice with the rappelling gear which we’ll need since the floor has biometric weight sensors and this will have to be accomplished mid-air, so to speak.”

“I suppose we should be grateful they have increased security only from below and not above.”

“Exactly. So we’ll  _Mission Impossible_  it,” she concludes matter-of-factly. “Easy.”

“ _Mission Impossible_? You mean the television show?” he asks in confusion with a shake of his head.

“No, the movie. There’s a tv show?”

“Lizzy, you’ve lost me completely.”

“Raymond,” she says smiling, bringing her hand to his cheek. “I really love you and I’ll explain everything later. I’ve got the vault covered. You concentrate on the building inspector and the tunnel. Hopefully the task force will come through with Crandall’s location.”

He takes a deep breath and also her hand, letting her calm his impatience. Resolutely turning away from the schematics, he leans closer. “Let’s leave it for now. I can think of a much more pleasant way to pass the time.”

“Reading?”

“Tempting, but no.”

“Solitaire?”

He smiles at the little crinkle on her brow as she attempts to appear serious. “Equally stimulating but not what I had in mind.”

“You better think again. Besides, Dembe is right over there,” she whispers, with a nod to the side.

He makes a point of looking past her then back again. “He’s asleep. That tea you give him always puts him out like a light.”

“That may be but we’ll be landing soon.”

“Elizabeth, I promise I only have one thing on my mind.”

He lets go of her hand and it travels up to her neck, his fingers lacing through her hair to draw her forward. There are many ways he kisses her, but this one she knows very well. The one where he won’t be rushed and she lets him set the pace. When he brings his other hand up to cup her face and there is always a moment as he moves closer that he pauses, a last look into her eyes before everything blurs. The length of a breath and then his lips find hers. Soft and slow like he is learning a secret and memorizing the thrill of its discovery. The kiss that she always falls into. Deeper. Nearer. Until she is holding on. Until there is nothing else except all the time in the world.

* * *

“Portofino is lovely this time of year. Life’s too short to spend haggling over flex conduits and electrical chases.” With a smile and a nudge, the case full of cash is pushed forward.

“My son drowned in Portofino.”

“Well, who could’ve predicted that?” Raymond exclaims, watching the man stalk away then catching that look from Marvin out of the corner of his eye.

Perhaps he should have predicted the inspector would turn down the money. If you bribe long enough, eventually you’re bound to stumble upon an honest man. And he should probably have known not to mention Portofino but with all that is happening he can’t be expected to remember every little detail.

“Okay then,” he says with a sigh. “Tell me everything you’ve learned about this guy. There must be some angle we can use to our advantage.”

By the time Lizzy and Dembe have joined them, he has found it and the idea starts taking shape in his mind.

“Marvin, do we still have those color swatches and design ideas on hand?” he asks, looking around the room.

“You’ve got that look, Raymond. What are you up to?”

“Lizzy, it appears our friend Max has a weakness for a lovely woman named Lisa who has a weakness for baking….very badly, judging by the schools she has flunked out of. Ah well, love can wreak havoc on the palette so he probably hasn’t noticed.” With a shrug, he gets up to retrieve his fedora but stops when she rises to follow. “Oh no, you don’t.”

“What? Can’t I tag along?”

“No.”

“Look, I know you’re going to do that thing you do and you can’t let me miss out on the performance. I’ll watch from the doorway.”

She is smiling broadly and god she is beautiful which is why he is shaking his head. “You’ll distract me from the doorway. Absolutely not.”

“I got to see the one at the embassy when you were the frazzled personal assistant.”

“Lizzy, you were tied to a chair!” He takes a breath and uses the only argument he has left. “Besides you’re in charge of the vault, remember? You and Dembe should work on the rappelling equipment if you can find somewhere the inspector can’t get to.”

She rolls her eyes in defeat. “Fine. But I get details later.”

“Deal,” he agrees in relief.

They turn to the amused expressions of Marvin and Dembe who have been watching this little drama play out and it is obvious to everyone present just who is a weakness for whom.

“Marvin, where are the damn swatches?” and plopping his hat on his head, he walks past her making sure to brush his hand against hers on the way to the door.

She follows him with her eyes until he disappears through the plastic sheeting of the construction area, fighting the urge to follow him. Not to insist on accompanying him but to tell him….what? So many things but especially how much it means to her that his first instinct isn’t to take by force but to give something in return for what they need.

“Dembe, I suppose we better take a look at the gear,” she says at last, still gazing in the direction he exited. “Marvin, do you think you and the guys can keep the inspector busy for a while?”

“With all the code violations around this place, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

Within the hour the equipment is sorted and only waiting on the completion of the tunnel which she has learned is already partially constructed under a hidden compartment in the floor. However, if they have any hope of finishing it, they will have to shake the ever present eye of the inspector who has finally cornered them with his report.

“Plumbing leak. Missing handrails—”

“Handrails? Handrails!”

Marvin is close to losing it and she is trying to think of a way around this disaster, but it goes on and on.

“Exposed wiring, unlicensed subcontractor. You’re shut down.”

She reaches to put a steadying hand on Marvin’s arm when there is a commotion at the entrance where Raymond enters with the hapless Lisa. It seems she will get to see the closing act after all and leans back against the table to enjoy the show.

“I know, I know. I ruined the whole damn thing,” Raymond announces theatrically to the room. “But there were too many choices to make without her. And since it’s her restaurant…”

He deposits the design samples on the counter and waits as reality sinks in on Max.

“I can’t believe this.” Lisa is looking around in wonder and Raymond thinks it’s the perfect time to land the final blow.

“Max has been working night and day to get this place fixed up. All those classes, the hours you spent perfecting your tarts, your crumpets.” He reaches an arm around the inspector’s shoulder before continuing. “If he’s told me once, he’s told me a thousand times you should be feeding all of Montreal in your own restaurant."

“I don’t know what to say.” And neither does Max as she excitedly hugs him and begins planning the menu. He looks completely dazed and moves to follow as she walks toward the kitchen when he is pulled up short by a hand at his back.

“I need one day without interruption. After that the place is yours.”

“Who are you?” Max asks, at which point Liz nearly bursts out laughing. Perhaps it’s a good thing she stayed behind after all. She doubts she could have been quiet during the design consultation.

“The man who’s going to help you make her dreams come true.”

Max is finally pulled away by Lisa and Lizzy goes to join Raymond as they watch the pair from a distance. She slides an arm around his side not really caring who sees and gives him a squeeze. “We should come back when they are open for business.”

“I’d suggest the  _grand_  opening judging by her baking prowess.”

She laughs and also doesn’t miss the amusement in his voice. “You’re not fooling anyone, Raymond, least of all me. You’re building a fake bakery and she is sort of a baker. It’s fate. I know you are hoping her dream really does come true.”

“Lizzy, I’m hoping she doesn’t burn the place down before we can get in that tunnel. Speaking of, what in god’s name is taking the task force so long in—”

“Raymond, it’s Agent Ressler for you,” Dembe interrupts handing him the flip phone.

"You were saying?” she asks with a smile.

He walks a little distance away and she stays a few paces to the left not wanting to miss any information.  _You found Halmi?_ But judging by his expression, the answer to that is no.  _Frozen? Where is he keeping them?_ Oh god, she knew it. Frozen thumbs.  _He has a refueling tanker? Excellent, that’s all I need._ And with that, the phone is snapped shut and she is thoroughly confused.

“What on earth?”

“Apparently Leonard was correct in assuming Sir Crispin is responsible for the international brain drain. Agents Ressler and Navabi raided Crandall Cryogenics, but none of the missing geniuses were on site which means he must be storing them on his A380. The jet normally refuels in air, but the tanker is grounded thanks to our friends at the FBI which gives us a small window of opportunity.”

She needs him to repeat all of that slowly but since there isn’t time she says the only thing that comes to mind. “I’m coming with you.”

“Of course, Lizzy. Someone will need to acquire the thumbs after all.”

On second thought...

"If you think—”

“Marvin! We require some clippers,” he calls to his lawyer, looking far more amused than he probably should under the circumstances. “Preferably ones that can cut through cryogenically frozen bone. And make contact with Crandall’s people and let them know I’d like a word with their boss regarding a way to circumvent their tanker issues.”

She sincerely hopes those clippers won’t be necessary and that a simple phone call is all it takes to set up a meeting between an international criminal and a reclusive billionaire.

* * *

Liz is just on the verge of reminding him they are pressed for time when Crandall joins them in the cabin of his jet.

_What are you doing here? I wired payment for the fuel._

_There he is! Sir Crispin. Truth be told, I’ve decided on a different form of payment, but first indulge my curiosity. An ice castle in the sky, the best and the brightest frozen solid? I’m intrigued._

She is as well but they are soon appalled. Cryogenic preservation of stolen brains that will regenerate following the next mass extinction and she has heard it all. Not to mention that one of those brains is still in the body they need to locate and suddenly there is a pain behind her eyes. With a glance at Raymond, it’s apparent he is as fed up as she.

_No matter how many poor souls you turn into popsicles, the fix is in. The world in which you awaken will be one incapable of sustaining human life. And why? Because at a critical turning point, one tragically quixotic megalomaniac cannibalized humanity of the very minds that might have been its salvation. You should see that 'now' trumps 'later' every time. The future is a sucker’s bet. The only thing that is real is the present and you have plundered it. Robbed it of the very geniuses that might have averted the dystopia you fear._

_Cryogenics is our only hope._

_It won’t work._

_I’m betting it will._

_Let’s place that bet, shall we?_

She is already moving to the door by the time the shot rings out.

“You may disagree with that, Lizzy, but—”

“Thirty-two lives stolen to feed his delusion. The only thing I want is to find Halmi and get out of this frozen wasteland.”

“I’ll second that.”

Beyond the cabin they enter a dining room with another sitting room adjacent. Past that they find a fully outfitted lab containing a surgical suite and she hears him whisper over her shoulder. “Here we go.”

The cryogenics room is through a glass door at the end of the lab and conveniently there is a key dangling in the lock. Once inside there is no time to make sense of the chambers, each housing a single victim, that fill the the space to capacity. Crandall has certainly been busy.

Walking to the computer, Liz does a quick search. “Andras Halmi, dewar UT-0027.”

He finds the corresponding number and makes quick work of taking the thumbs and wrapping them in a handkerchief. “Andras, it’s a pity it has come to this but next time choose better friends,” he murmurs as he closes the door.

“Someone is here,” she calls out loud enough for him to hear.

There is no way to tell who is beyond the frosted glass and moving silently to the side of the room behind the cryo chambers, they make their way back toward the door. Whoever enters should naturally proceed down the center aisle giving them time to exit the way they came in.

They expect it to be Crandall’s people finally catching up with them. What they do not expect is Cabal operatives entering the lab followed by Solomon with his trademark grin. Raymond fires instinctively and her own shot echoes out a split second later.

One. Two. Three down by the time they close and lock the door with bullets making an impact but not passing through.

“I suppose we have Sir Crispin to thank for the bulletproof glass but otherwise…”

She sees the shadow approaching on the other side and takes a step forward before hesitating.

“What’s wrong? We need to go.”

“It’s Solomon,” she whispers, turning to him. The hanger and the knife. Dembe. Isabella and her baby. She can’t stop the rush of anger.

“I know, but right now we must leave.” His gaze never wavers, not a glance at the figure beyond the glass. She is his only focus.

The slightest shake of her head and he reaches out and takes her arm. “Elizabeth, I promise he will be dealt with. I need you to trust me.”

His hand is still there but without any pressure and a moment later she moves toward him.

“Stay right behind me. Don’t look back.” When she nods, he turns and leads the way.

The rest is just images flying past as they rush through the plane and descend the stairs where Raymond takes out the lone Cabal soldier left standing guard. Without slowing, they sprint across the airfield where Edward has the jet rolling to the runway by the time they close and seal the door.

Another close call and one they were not prepared for. Raymond immediately places a call to Dembe. “Solomon was there which means the Director will soon know Halmi was our target. We’ll be landing in two hours. Tell the crew to do whatever it takes to finish that damn tunnel.”

Isn’t this what always happens, she muses. They think they are ahead in the game only to learn how close their adversary remains. There will be no time to practice, only one opportunity to get it right. Closing her eyes she pushes every thought away and begins going over the sequence in her mind.

She feels him brush past when he comes to sit in the chair opposite. “I’ve taken care of—”

Her finger raises and she goes through the final steps, her thoughts in the tunnel as Raymond fastens the light fixture back in place. Rising and rising until they reach daylight. When her eyes open, he is there watching her with concern.

“I’m alright,” she says, leaning across to pat his knee. “We won’t get a dress rehearsal so I’m thinking it through.”

With her reassurance, he settles into his seat and adjusts his vest. “You’ll do fine.”

“We’ll do fine,” she corrects him with a small smile. “What was it you’ve taken care of?”

“The thumbs.” He points behind her where the two frozen digits are floating in a scotch glass on the bar. “I have them soaking in warm water so they’ll defrost a little but not dehydrate and distort the fingerprint.”

“Oh my god,” she whispers before looking away. “Don’t you dare use that glass again.”

“But it’s from a matching set.” He raises his hands in surrender at her expression, having taken the joke about as far as he dares.

A minute or two later there is the faintest shiver that passes through her body.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“How do you do it? How do you compartmentalize your feelings for the Director and The Cabal after what they did to you. They took everything from you…”

The words tumble out and she wishes she could retrieve them. She hadn’t meant to say so much or disturb his memories of his family. It feels like sacred ground and she finds herself not wanting to go near what hurts him.

“I’m sorry,” she continues quietly. “It’s just with Solomon there—”

“I understand and believe me it wasn’t always this way, but there are many years that span the chasm from where I am now to that last day with my daughter. Many decisions that have been made just like the one earlier with Solomon. We needed to survive this day to get to that vault, more than our need for revenge. It will come. If not by us then most assuredly by Dembe.”

She nods looking out the window and he knows she needs the quiet, that her thoughts will soon return to the job ahead of them. In a short time, it is as he expected. “Do you want to go over what I have in mind? It may help once we’re in there.”

“Certainly. Should I get the thumbs for practice?” he asks, leaning forward as if to rise.

“Raymond, I swear—”

“And tell me about this  _Mission Impossible_  maneuver. That sounds fun.”

He relaxes back and enjoys every moment of the remainder of the flight.

* * *

It’s a little like a dance or something far more intimate. In fact she wonders if it would come as natural with someone who doesn’t know her body the way he does or vice versa. It definitely offers them the advantage and with the Director probably strolling through the lobby of the bank at that very moment, they need all the help they can get.

By the time they entered the construction area, only Dembe and the foreman remained. Lizzy had already changed into leggings and a tank needing a little more flexibility than her jeans would allow and immediately Dembe was trading her hoodie for the rappelling gear.

They were silent, everyone knowing their roles to play and not wanting to waste time. In fact she and Raymond didn’t speak until he descended to remove the light fixture through which they would enter the vault.

_Raymond, not yet. The sensor._

Her whisper came from above him in the tunnel where she was waiting on Dembe’s signal that the foreman had cut the alarm wired into the ceiling of the room. He listens for her  _Go_ and when it comes immediately begins unscrewing the bolts holding the light fixture in place. By the time he enters through the hole in the ceiling, she is already right above him and they come to a stop facing each other.

“How’s it hanging?”

He chuckles at her humor before stating aloud what is running though both their minds. “I’ll let you know once we’re in possession of the box and have managed to avoid touching the floor, the table or dropping something, all of which will spell disaster.”

The space between them and the table is tight and with weight sensors located all along the floor, even the slightest pressure could trigger the alarm. “No sudden moves. You have the grip?"

He pulls a small handle from his pocket that he attaches to the wall of lock boxes next to them and once the suction engages gives it a pull. “This should help. You ready?”

“Absolutely.”

She relaxes and waits for him to guide her in place. They had entered as close as possible to the Directors deposit box but it is still several feet away, on the wall behind her, leaving them with two options. Raymond maneuvering her close enough to reach it or setting up a pulley system which would be time consuming and riskier.

Placing his hands on her hips, he spins her around and extends his reach until they hear the rope scrape the side of their entry point. “You see it?”

“Yes. D120,” she answers quietly.

Pivoting forward, she brings her bare feet up and behind until they make contact with his legs.

“Higher,” he murmurs and she follows his instructions until she is braced against his thighs and moving toward the box. “How much further?”

“Two feet.”

His hands have dropped down as she extended her legs and he takes one and gives her rope a tug, a signal to Dembe to release a foot more.

“Do we need a pulley?”

“No,” she says, already a little out of breath from the exertion of her position. “A little more.”

Another tug of the rope and she is there. Pulling her tools from her waistband, she begins picking the lock. By the time she has counted to fourteen in her head, the door swings open and she reaches for the box.

“Wait, Lizzy. Put the picks away first.”

“Yes, you’re right.” Only when they are secured does she lift the box. “This thing is heavy, Raymond.”

“We’re almost there. When you’re ready, bend your knees so I can reach you.”

She is very winded now and nods instead of answering. Taking a deep breath, she relaxes back and his hands grip her hips, turning her quickly and instinctively she wraps her legs around his body as she falls back to him. They are face to face again with the box crammed between them and both smiling broadly as he stills their momentum with the handrail.

“Hi,” she manages, before concentrating on catching her breath.

“Hi, yourself.”

He gives her rope a swish back and forth and the slack is lessened by Dembe above them. When her legs loosen, he tightens his grip from behind, keeping her in place. “No, it will help balance the box.”

With a nod, she leans back and watches as he begins his part. The lid is lifted revealing another box within, one requiring two thumbprints to gain access. Removing the digits from his breast pocket, he aligns them perfectly and they both exhale in relief at the green light that displays.

When he returns the thumbs to his pocket, she can’t help saying, “I think it’s time you switch back to the blue jacket.”

He only smiles and lifts the lid revealing….she can’t begin to imagine. Millions it seems to her. Stacks of cash, securities, bearer bonds. Several accounts with access information she is sure will be drained as soon as they give the information to Dembe.

“Okay, let’s go.” Taking a small sheet of paper from yet another pocket, he carefully peels away the backing and places it over the lock and looking up he explains, “So it won’t engage again. I have no plans to leave with those thumbs.”

“Good thinking. Now the bag.”

It takes only minutes to relieve the Director of his life savings. The box is placed in a nylon bag and with a soft whistle another rope is lowered which lifts it out of sight. Placing the thumbs back in the box belonging to the bank, he closes it for the final time.

“You hanging in there?’ he asks, which makes her laugh. “Second time should be easier.”

And it is, as they repeat the steps allowing her to return the box. They could have taken it they suppose but why miss out on the satisfaction of leaving something empty for the Director to discover. Well, except for the digits and it is worth every second it takes to replace it.

When she lands softly against his chest and he steadies them using the handrail, they realize they have a problem.

“We’re a little tangled,” she says, looking above them at their ropes coiled around one another. “I think I need to swing left...no right..”

“Lizzy, I was once a sailor. I’m very good with ropes and knots,” and when she laughs, he looks down at her expression. “What?”

“Um nothing,” she says, suddenly finding the entire situation beyond amusing not to mention that last statement, innocent though it may be.

His confusion is quickly followed by a smirk. “Look, we can discuss that later but right now you need to go left.”

And as soon as she moves, his hands circle her waist, halting her progress and gently guiding her in the opposite direction. “Sorry, that’s  _my_  left,  _your_  right.”

She smiles, shaking her head, and proceeds on her way. Two circles around, she comes back to face him and reaches to give her rope a tug. “I’ll see you up top.”

“I’ll be right behind you.”

* * *

He’s alone with his thoughts.

The end of a very long day as they cross back over the Canadian border for the fourth time. There is darkness beyond the windows of the jet and the steady hum of the engines that does nothing to soothe his restlessness. He stops to place a blanket over Lizzy who is stretched out on the couch before taking his seat.

_How do you do it? How do you compartmentalize you feeling for the Director?_

There is no real answer beyond what he told her earlier. Perhaps it really is just time and distance but sitting next to the case containing all of the blood money Peter has accumulated and those long ago betrayals feel closer than they have in years. He won’t touch a dime of it, cannot stomach the thought.

Lizzy already knew this. She had snapped the lid closed and said she’d make damn sure some good came from it. He has no doubt of it and looks to where she is sleeping. The woman he has loved more than any other and opening his phone he places the call.

They’ve spoken before. Only a handful of times and both playing the part. He a criminal no longer with any real regard for that family he once had and Peter never acknowledging the fallout from his actions. Like two adversaries they circled each other without striking out. That is until he was gunned down in the street and Elizabeth framed for murder. Never once have they talked about the past and perhaps those words will never be spoken. What is there to say after such treachery? Another question he has no answer for.

_Hello, Peter. I hope I’m not interrupting cocktails with Linda._

_Congratulations on getting to Halmi before I did._

_Yes, it certainly is celebratory drinks here, so I’ll be brief. I think it’s about time to exonerate Elizabeth Keen._

_That’s not going to happen._

The anger flashes just as it did for Lizzy earlier and he controls it as always, continuing with deadly calm.

_I’m going to bring this whole damn thing down on you, Peter. When I do, your own people will beg me to kill you to stop the bleeding. And now you have no money to escape the inevitable. I suggest you give careful consideration to what I’ve said._

He disconnects without the slightest satisfaction. That will have to wait and glancing at his watch he rises to go to her.

She wakes to his hand rubbing her back, and the feel of him sitting close on the edge of the couch. “Mmmm, five more minutes.”

“We’re landing soon. Lizzy,” he murmurs, growing still.

“Don’t stop.”

She can hear him chuckle at her mumbled words and sighs when his hand slips under the hem of her shirt and resumes her back rub.

“I think I used muscles today I never knew existed.” With a blink, she finally opens her eyes and notices his expression. “What’s wrong?”

He should have known there would be no hiding it from her. “I called Peter and gave him a few things to think about. I’ll tell you tomorrow. It really isn’t worth talking about tonight.”

After a moment or two studying him, she lets the subject drop and stretches as his hand begins lessening the tension in her back.

“Raymond, the only thing this day is lacking was a second trip to the little cafe and an Aviation Cocktail. It’s a pity we couldn’t squeeze it in.” She hadn’t expected her words to genuinely surprise him but it is apparent they have. “You don’t think I could forget our first trip to Montreal, do you?”

No, he wouldn’t imagine that she could forget it but that any part of it would make her smile as she is right now is nothing short of astonishing. The beginning of the end of life as she knew it and the breaking of all her illusions yet here she is thinking only a charming cafe and a drink he had the audacity to replace her order with.

She is watching all these emotions play out across his features and continues quietly, “I was nervous that night.”

“I know,” as he remembers how fidgety she was in the car.

“You were too even though you hid it very well.”

It is so clear now looking back on it. The charge that was already there, already building between them.

“I was,” and he smiles seeing hers broaden at his admission. “Lizzy, I can’t offer you a night out at a restaurant but I think we can manage dinner on the balcony.”

“I accept.”

“And perhaps a hot bath and a proper back rub,” he adds as his fingers trail down her skin sending that familiar flutter through her body.

“I really accept.”

“Good, then it’s a date.”

He had called the future a sucker’s bet but it is a wager he will make time and again if it means winning just one more day with her.


	41. Apprehension

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline: 3.7 - 3.8

_Ain’t love a kick in the head_

* * *

He’s gone.

And Liz can’t keep the words from entering her thoughts as she spins in a circle.  _Without a trace._ She is stunned, the more so as nothing at all seems amiss in the gas station or parking area except Raymond and their Jeep is nowhere in sight.

He never made it inside to pay for the fuel.

No cash customers for hours according to the clerk when she went inside to ask about….her friend. And there is a tightening in her chest as she tries to think, attempts to make sense of his absence. If The Cabal had found them here in this small West Virginia town she’d be dead by now. Or taken alongside him.

Is that what occurred while she went inside to freshen up after their almost sleepless night and the drive early this morning? Did they find him in the ten minutes she was gone, but if so why haven’t they come for her? She is completely exposed as she paces the parking lot, but her instincts give her no warning of impending danger, only the desperate fear that something terrible has happened.

With trembling hands she places a call to Dembe. “Please tell me Raymond has called you.”

“Is something wrong?”

“He was here one minute and now he’s gone. I’ve called and called…”

She is speaking so fast Dembe can hardly keep up and asks her location. But she won’t give it, not when he needs to stay to secure the package, the entire reason they are here and why they were to rendezvous in a few hours time. They cannot risk him not being there when it arrives. No, there must be another way.

With a glance at her phone, the other option comes to her, but she hesitates as she goes through the names in mind. Aram would naturally be her first call but if there is even the slightest chance he might tell Ressler it would be too risky. It must be Samar and again she pauses before dialing the number. Recalling the previous evening, she walks the length of the parking lot. It already feels like days have passed. Weeks.

Raymond was so tired when he returned to the mansion, exhaustion evident in every part of him. She immediately steered him to the kitchen and made him sit at the small breakfast table while she pulled together some leftovers, certain he had not eaten since the early morning.

It was only when he had finished, when he reached across the table for her hand that she asked the questions she had held back.

“What happened?”

‘It was her brother, Lizzy.”

“What? I don’t—”

“Samar’s brother Shahin was the real Zal Bin Hasaan. She had no idea. All these years believing he was dead and not a wanted killer.”

She had listened in shock as he filled in the details. Samar captured and Raymond and his team interceding at the dock. If she had known, she would never have…

“I should have been there.”

But he was already shaking his head. “Lizzy, we needed you here and besides there was no way to know what would happen. The Director is growing more desperate the longer we stay out of reach. Now is not the time to take unnecessary risks.”

“You can’t hide me away.”

But the way he had looked at her, he would do just that if he thought he could get away with it. She had tamped down her frustration. Between the care package Dembe had left to retrieve and the final plans they had in store for Peter, it was her decision to stay at the mansion with Leonard and Mr. Kaplan going over the details of what was to come. However, it did not lessen her regret.

“Tell me,” she continued quietly, giving his hand a squeeze.

“Once we had secured Samar’s safety, I told her the decision was hers. She gave me Hasaan when she learned we would use him to aid in clearing your name.”

“Oh god.”

An impossible choice and yet Samar did it to help her. They had sat quietly for a while until she led him upstairs to rest, knowing they had only a few hours before they were to fly and meet Dembe. She laid awake listening to his breathing deepen with sleep, wondering what cost was left for each of them to pay.

And now less than a day after losing her brother for a second time, Liz must call her and ask for help.

“Reddington is missing. Samar, I need you to promise me something. If I give you his burner number and ask you to trace his location, can you promise me you won’t tell Ressler?”

“What’s the number?”

She breathes a sigh of relief and waits as the trace is made leading to a salvage yard outside of town.

“Good luck,” Samar says before hanging up and there is no time for anything else.

No time to speak of her brother and what words could she really offer? It is the reason Samar is assisting her, after all. Because Raymond saved her life and Lizzy can only hope their luck holds out until she can find him. With a final glance at the last place she saw him, she begins her walk to the edge of town.

* * *

He could almost find it comical that the great Raymond Reddington was taken down by this group of misfits while on the run from the FBI as well as The Cabal. Yes, he might make a joke at his own expense over his current situation were it not for the danger Lizzy is now in, compounded by his disappearance. And if it were not for this broken girl that is attempting to gain information from him while the others wait outside.

So predictable, he already knew it would be her that entered the camper when the door opened. He cannot begin to fathom how she came to be in this place, her mind trapped in some childlike nightmare and whatever happens he resolves to do her no harm. Even as the knife flashes at his throat.

_You have to tell me your real name. They’re going to hurt me if you don’t._

_You like getting hurt, Jilly. You wouldn’t be here with them if you didn’t._

And he’ll be damned if he will add to it.

Besides, there was no real way to overpower her with his hands cuffed from behind. Nothing he can use to his advantage when she discovered the money belt and left with her prize. Not until he spied the knife she dropped is he able to pick the lock on the handcuffs and wait.

He can hear them celebrating their windfall outside the window. It keeps him in place knowing he could not exit unseen and he leans closer to hear their conversation. A minute later he laughs sardonically at how quickly the first betrayal comes.

Already Jasper, their outside man, has been cut from the family, so to speak, leaving a bigger pie to be split between…..Cash, Pablo, T-Bone and Jilly. The remaining players in this tragedy and he’s betting the bloodshed will continue.

They move a little ways from the camper, far enough that their conversation is lost to him but still close enough that he cannot chance an escape. There may be only one opportunity and if he has any hope of getting back to Lizzy, he must be patient. It takes everything within him to wait. Knowing her as he does, he can only hope to make it out of these woods before she finds this location herself.

Leaning back, he replaces the handcuffs so nothing will appear out of place, closes his eyes and allows himself the small luxury of her memory.

He regrets there hadn’t been more time last night. More than a hurried dinner and then an attempt to sleep the few hours before their pre-dawn flight to Charleston. Wishes their nerves had not felt as frayed with the knowledge that they were leaving the relative safety of the mansion behind to begin their final plan. The one that Mr. Kaplan and Marvin Gerard are working on right now and there is no way to know what is happening beyond this hideout. No way to know if she is safe and the vision of her discovering that he had vanished is more painful than the blows his assailants have already landed.

Godammit, how could he be so careless?

With a shake of his head, he goes back to this morning. To those early hours when they found each other, before the alarm would have sounded or the sky began to lighten. When their bodies had rested and their minds were quiet from sleep. When she woke to the warmth of his fingers tracing the contour of her spine or was it the kiss planted under his jaw that brought him out of slumber?

No words, only a lingering desperation quickening their desire, moving them closer to the edge, closer to the fall. As if somewhere deep inside they feared this separation, somehow knowing they would not reach the end unscathed. The end that is so very close now.

He aches for her.

Here in this filth when a bullet may come for him at any moment, she is his only thought. These precious few seconds he takes for himself, the need ever present. More than the passion that grows and deepens every day but it is the peace she brings that calls to him.

She is woven into his very soul.

The sound of the doorknob feels like a tearing apart. He opens his eyes to the camper and her absence fills every part of it. He hopes it is anyone but Jilly as the moment of opportunity approaches.

* * *

Lizzy enters the bar that seems a little too crowded before lunchtime and finds her mark. Jasper, the tow truck driver who brought the Jeep to the salvage yard. He is cozied up to the counter with his beer as companion and when she moves behind, she knocks into him with more force than really necessary. A smile and an offer of a refill follows as she attempts to put the image of the jeep out of her mind. The one secreted away but where she discovered Raymond’s phone and a fair amount of blood in the backseat. Just what kind of racket they stumbled into she can only imagine but one thing is for certain. It is time for her and Jasper to become better acquainted.

“I’m Kenya.”

“That’s quite a name.”

“Well, I’m quite a girl.”

Her smile broadens and Jasper is wondering about the sudden upswing in his day while Lizzy is thinking of that particular fake ID that rests in her pocket. Her laugh when Raymond gave it to her.  _Kenneth and Kenya does have a nice ring to it._ He had chuckled and pulled her close as they walked from the jet. Such a simple thing that now makes her smile falter and her heart begin to hurt.

She suggests a game of pool, anything to distract herself and bring them closer together so she can lift his phone. It is accomplished with ease and with a quick trip to the restroom she confirms his involvement.

_Hit the jackpot with this dude._

Yep that’s Raymond she thinks as she reads the text. What she’d prefer to do is break a pool stick over Jasper’s head but unfortunately she is forced to suggest they move the party to his apartment while it is all she can do to play the part and not grimace at his touch.

The tension is building.

As soon as they enter the apartment she feels the seconds ticking down. It’s there in his expression when he takes the call. She has no idea what they are saying to him but the realization spreads quickly across his face and they react simultaneously. She is thrown across the counter and her head forced underwater in the kitchen sink. This is not the first violent fight she has endured but she does not end up beaten and handcuffed to a bannister. Not this day. It is Jasper that takes a knife to the leg and a bullet to the shoulder.

_Where’s my friend?_

Whether it’s the gun aimed at his head or her expression she will never know but for the first time today she actually gets the answer to her question.

“Call Cash, he’s the one in charge. They figured out who you really are,” Jasper finishes, hoping he can extricate himself from the situation in any way possible.

Who they really are and she feels a chill spread through her realizing the situation just got infinitely more difficult. The truth of what he says is there on his phone when she finds their wanted posters. How they must be congratulating themselves on their good fortune.

“ _Cash_ ,” she mutters as she finds the number in the contacts list. “That’s real cute.”

“Where the hell you been?” asks the voice on the other end.

“You’re holding my friend and I want to make a deal. I’ve got Jasper here. Straight trade, him for Reddington.”

“And I thought you were going to offer me something worth a damn, sister. Keep him. See, my man Reddington here is worth a fortune and Jasper, god bless his heart, is dead weight. Tell him  _it’s been real_.”

He hangs up and when she rolls her eyes in disgust, Jasper can’t help but ask, “What’d he say?”

“Seems your pal Cash thinks you’re about as worthless as I do. He said to tell you _it’s been real.”_

* * *

And then there were three.

Freedom had been so close. He made it all the way to the truck before Cash blew out the window just to the left of his head. Within minutes the handcuffs were replaced and upon discovering the bullet Raymond had left somewhere in T-Bone’s abdomen, Cash commenced to lead them on a stroll in the woods.

The story being to kill him, and with a glance at Pablo, he looks for any sign of comprehension that the next bullet will be his. The further they walk the more convinced he is that Pablo may require some assistance in seeing things as they really are.

“What do you think is really going on here? You sure this is about me? I’m worth a lot more to them than you are,” he murmurs. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised if I were to walk out of these woods alive, but I sincerely doubt you’ll be as lucky.”

Raymond glances from Pablo at his side to Cash and Jilly who have outpaced them. “Where do you suppose they’re going to go with my money? I say Aruba. Maybe Cancun.”

The seed is sown and by the time the call comes through, Cash lives up to every expectation. Raymond is not the least surprised that it is Lizzy calling and that she has Jasper to offer as a trade. Impressed but not surprised. There was little doubt that given enough time she would find him, even though he wants her as far from these woods as possible.

Better late than never. It is finally clear to Pablo when Cash declines the trade, just who it is that is expendable.

And then there were two.

The shots are still echoing through the woods when Lizzy’s second call comes and it is Pablo that will now broker the deal.

“Listen to me,” she says when they put her on speaker.

“Reddington’s worth a bundle,” he interrupts. “You know it. You and him are worth two million to the feds. Can you match that?”

She only has one thing of value that she could trade in such short time and there is nothing he can do to stop it.

“I can. It’ll take me a little while. I’ll call you back in two hours.”

“Elizabeth, don’t!”

She is gone and he is powerless to stop her trading her freedom for his. Everything inside begins to hurt.

* * *

They are quiet in the car.

Not long now until Raymond’s abductors will be pulling onto this forgotten lane in the middle of the woods to make the trade. The one she has insisted take place regardless of what Dembe thinks about it.

_We have to give them the care package._

_Raymond will not allow that._

_I’m not asking his permission. If we don’t do this they are going to kill him._

She had tried to explain when she picked him up outside the bookshop. If Dembe thinks she would sacrifice Raymond’s life to save her own….no, she would not listen. With a shake of her head she had turned the car and driven them to this rendezvous point where they sit in silence.

The strangest thought comes to her and she turns her face to the window, feeling the tears prick her eyes. She wonders about the story Raymond would have told her. Ian Bartleby and his wife. The beekeep they fell in with on the Isle of Skye.

This morning in the Jeep when she let him do most of the talking, content to listen to the timbre of his voice and let it soothe her nerves.

_You’re in a chatty mood._

She had teased him, running her hand up behind his neck, making him chuckle. 

_Lizzy, I’ve had a most pleasant morning considering the appalling lack of sleep._

He launched into another tale as she smiled knowingly, remembering when she woke to his caress and the movement of their bodies that drove all thought away.

But the last story came as they arrived at the station and so she delayed it wanting to splash some water on her face and stretch her legs. He must have sensed the worry and his hand had rested over hers. Long enough to delay her leaving and to reassure her.

_We’re very close, This will all be over soon._

A tear tracks down her cheek but she makes no move to swipe it away. His face is so clear in her mind she can almost imagine they are back there again. Her eyes stay closed, afraid the image will vanish when she needs it a little longer. Even when it hurts to breathe, she remains locked in the memory.  

How can she explain it to Dembe?

This impossible love that has somehow saved her. Saved both of them. She would spend the rest of her days running if it means bringing him back to her. And she would wait for his hand to find hers. She would ask him about the beekeeper and get lost in his voice as she always does.

The sound of the car approaching takes him away from her once more and she looks over to Dembe who is watching her.

“Elizabeth, he would not want this.”

“I know but I cannot lose him,” she whispers with a shrug of her shoulders. This is the only way.

It is there in her face. The emotion that is overwhelming her and the reason he will not argue. They step from the car, Dembe with the case and she with a hand on Jaspers arm. There is no sign of Raymond, only his jacket worn by one of the kidnappers.

“Where is he?”

“Nearby. Hand over Jasper and the cash and we’ll release him.”

“Do you think we’re stupid?” she asks.

The apparent leader of the two pulls a phone from his pocket and she can see Raymond on the screen.

“Elizabeth, do not do this. Do not give it to them.”

Difficult for her to see but he is bound, sitting on the floor and imploring her not to do the very thing that she has chosen to do.

“Are you all right?”

The phone is turned away and there is no regret or second thought when the case is handed over and instructions are relayed to let Raymond go. Not even as the sirens explode out of nowhere and they are surrounded. All that remains is the instinct to run when Dembe pushes the cop away in order to give her one single chance.

But it is not enough.

Yes, she would run the rest of her days if only she could. If only she had found him in time, but it is not Raymond’s touch that reaches for her when she is thrown to the ground.

The impact is crushing.

As is the gun in her face and Ressler pinning her down.

_You wouldn’t._

_I would. You know I would._

It doesn’t matter that she is unarmed or that he knows about The Cabal.

_Elizabeth Keen, you are under arrest._

Nothing matters at all.

Except Raymond’s life and the signal that was given to release him. It is her last hope that he is safe and she will take whatever is to come.

* * *

There are too many sirens coming from every direction for him not to realize what has happened.

He was forced to let it play out as Elizabeth planned, knowing she would go through with it against his wishes. It is what they do after all. Save one another in every possible way.

It was Jilly who was left to guard him and between her fragile mind and the gun trained on him, he did not attempt another escape. Thankfully there was no need. When the trade was completed, she let him go as promised, giving him the keys to Cash’s truck.

And now it is his turn to wonder where Lizzy is, what is happening to her as the sirens wail and everything falls to pieces. He stops at the payphone and dials her number and then Dembe’s. Her number again and another message left.

_Lizzy, where are you? They’re coming._

When, in fact, they are already here and he is much too late.


	42. Gamble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline: 3.9

_Love me with an open heart, tell me anything_  
_We can find a place to start to gamble everything_  
_We can set this thing apart, “cause we’re gonna_  
_Gamble everything for love_

* * *

There aren’t many illusions left to shatter. How could there be after what has been done to her. After what she has done. She is no longer the person she was and perhaps that is why Ressler appears little more than a stranger to her.

_You shot the Attorney General of the United States._

_He was a terrorist_

_He was unarmed._

_Well, I’m glad you have your convictions. I just don’t want to die for them._

His condemnation is one thing but the naiveté regarding his ability to keep her alive is another. There is a hard truth to be faced. She may not reach her arraignment the following day much less make it to a trial. Even with that knowledge, it is Raymond she thinks of as she stares out of the car window, wanting to see as much of this fall day as possible. Wondering if he was actually let go by his captors and escaped the area as law enforcement closed in.

The answer comes with the ringing of Ressler’s phone. Without hearing the other side of the conversation, she knows it is him.

_You don’t have to worry about Keen’s safety. I’ve taken measures to—_

As she is being driven straight to the Director and The Cabal.

_Oh, so you’re going to share your plan with me now that I’ve arrested your partner in crime? Face it, Reddington. I beat you._

Just a game then, not her life. Only a scorecard.

_Thanks to you, Navabi is no longer a member of this task force._

Because she helped trace Raymond’s phone after he was taken. For that Samar was dismissed.

Liz doesn’t want to hear anymore. It is enough that the trade was accomplished and he is free. There is still the plan they worked so meticulously on but without their bargaining chip she has no idea how it could go forward. He won’t stop fighting, of that she is certain, not until the last possible moment and what then? What if it is simply not enough?

“I need a pen and paper,” she says, once the call is ended.

“Keen—”

“I don’t have a will.”

What Ressler or the officer driving their transport vehicle thinks she could possibly do with such items to aid her escape she has no idea and suddenly the image comes. A criminal, a crossword and the flash of a pen. It is all she can do not to laugh when they pass it to her with a small piece of paper.

And that is how she knows what to write. Something that might make him smile even for the briefest moment. There are no possessions that matter, nothing she can give him but this. A memory. The words come quickly and she writes them out in a shaking hand.

“Who do you want me to give this to?” Ressler asks, when she hands him the paper.

“Give it to Aram.”

She turns back to the window, to what is left of this day.

“You’ll get a fair hearing.

“You and I both know I’m never making it to that hearing alive.”

There is no convincing him and she wonders at what point he will understand and if she will still be alive when that moment of clarity finally comes.

* * *

Raymond is speeding away from the site of her arrest and wants nothing more than to call Edward and return to DC immediately. He’s almost positive that is where they will take her and he needs to be close.

It is not possible.

The package is in West Virginia in an evidence lockup somewhere and until he has recovered it, he must remain. However, learning of Agent Navabi’s dismissal from the task force, an idea starts forming and he makes two calls in quick succession. His annoyance with Ressler’s short sightedness aside, it will be beneficial having her assistance and he is relieved when she agrees to have Edward fly her down.

There are other calls that should be made, resources that must be gathered if the plan he is cooking up will work, but he can wait no longer. The apprehension following his conversation with Ressler has been building and now with Dembe arrested as well, it increases that much more. Not since Lizzy was taken by Braxton has he felt this gnawing helplessness which is suffocating in its intensity.

A police car with sirens wailing passes him going in the opposite direction, bringing him back to the present. Slowing the truck to the speed limit, he takes a breath before calling the only person he can trust.

“Agent Mojtabai.”

“Where are they taking her?”

“Mr. Reddington?”

“Aram,” he says quietly. “Please.”

He can’t seem to hide the desperation he is feeling or summon his usual bravado. The silence draws out as his hand grips the phone tighter, to the point of pain, hoping for the answer.

“She’s en route to the Post Office.”

Whispered words and he can see Aram there, surrounded by the FBI and most likely Cabal members lying in wait as he discloses national secrets.

With that in mind, he gets right to the point. “Listen to me, The Cabal will come for her and if they reach her, she will be lost. You are the only one that can prevent that from happening.”

“Me?”

“Aram, I ask this of you. Do whatever you can to keep her alive.”

It’s there in his voice, but once again he will not disguise the emotion. He doubts he could if he tried.

* * *

Liz isn’t sure what she expected or even what she could have imagined and she’s imagined quite a lot during her months as a fugitive.

It wasn’t being returned to the blacksite where she once worked or paraded through the Post Office in restraints that surprises. It wasn’t even Aram’s sorrowful expression or Laurel Hitchen’s triumphant one, but she will admit to being shocked as hell when she is led to the box.

Where this strange journey began.

Perhaps it is fitting that it has come to this. The place Raymond was held after he surrendered. The sacrifice he chose to make, not unlike her own. The sacrifice of the package in exchange for his life and her arrest that followed.

It seems the circle is complete.

The door has barely swung closed as Ressler promises to keep her safe when the Director arrives. Orders to transport her elsewhere. Reven Wright missing. Yes, now it is becoming clearer where the true corruption lies and she is helpless, trapped in this damned box.

Until the Director fails to unlock the door and there is just the smallest smile as she realizes what has happened. Aram has happened and for the first time she sits back to watch the drama play out.

* * *

Raymond closes the phone with a shake of his head.

Always late to the party. Ah well, at least Ressler has finally caught up and might actually be of some service. Especially as Cooper has managed to capture the real killer of those CIA agents and the one responsible for infecting Elizabeth with the virus. If he can assist in keeping Karakurt alive and Aram is able to hold off the Director, they might actually have a chance.

He needs time and there is precious little of it to spare. She must survive. There is simply no other alternative. Even as close as he came to losing her in the hanger he cannot contemplate it now. Not today. He would surely collapse under the weight of it and as he glances up to see Samar approaching, he puts it away until later.

There are things they must do and getting that package back from the FBI is the first priority. Since Donald dispatched Samar from the task force, there is no time like the present to enlist her help. Time is definitely running out, therefore, he attempts to sum it up as succinctly as possible.

_We’re going to clear Elizabeth’s name. It will involve a sizable drug haul, an FBI heist and the U.S. Treasury Department._

As grateful as he is for Samar’s assistance, he can’t help thinking of Lizzy. How profoundly he feels her absence just then and wondering what she will say when she learns she missed all the hijinks.

* * *

The numbers flashing on the side of the box are dizzying. Countless code combinations that will eventually give them access to her. She wonders if they will move her to another location or simply kill her right there.

Her eyes follow his every movement. The Director, who has been pacing continuously just outside the locked door like a predator waiting for the opportunity to strike. He hasn’t looked in her direction or spoken to her and she wonders if it is some attempt to intimidate.  Well, he can think again.

“He’ll come for you,” she calls out, drawing his attention.

“Reddington? Yes, I expect he will now that his prima ballerina is trapped in a jewelry box. Tell me, did you ever find out his connection to you?” he asks and when she makes no response he continues glibly. “I can’t help wondering. He follows you around like a faithful bloodhound but you still don’t know? Well, that’s too bad. It’s a very unsatisfying way to go out, don’t you think?”

He has walked only a few feet away when she responds, halting his steps. “I know it all, Peter.”

She smiles at his uncertainty, as his curiosity brings him back to the box. “Every last detail. All of your lies and treachery, the blood on your hands. The secrets you sold to my mother and then the betrayal that followed. You ruined so many lives in the process, I wonder which of those you might think of when you  _go out_ as you say.”

“You’re very sure of yourself considering your current circumstances.”

“I’m well aware of my circumstances, but are you? You’re going to die, either by my hand or Reddington’s.”

“You can’t seriously—”

“Oh, but I am Peter, and when that moment comes, I want you to remember why there will be no mercy. Katarina Rostova and Jennifer Reddington.”

She turns and walks to the rear of the box, refusing to let him see her emotion. Difficult words as hard and cold as the steel surrounding her. She doesn’t care. They have waded through too much blood, too much destruction in the years since Peter took their lives away for there to be any other choice.

The lights from the code sequences dance around the box, but she refuses to turn. Let them do what they will. It is not until someone approaches from the side, does she glance over to see Aram walk up to the glass.

“Hey, you ok?”

“I’ve been better,” she replies grimly, closing the distance between them so they may speak for a few seconds.

“Liz, you’re almost there. In an hour you’ll be moved to a holding cell at the courthouse. Ressler has gone to help Cooper bring Karakurt in.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Oh that’s right, you don’t know,” he whispers quickly, with a glance at the men working on the access code. “Cooper tracked down Karakurt and is holding him outside the city.”

“But how…”

She shakes her head trying to make sense of it, thinking of what Cooper has undertaken in order to help her and she had no idea.

“It’s a long story, we’ll fill you in later. We’re going to get you out of here.”

With a nod, she blinks back the sudden tears in her eyes. “Okay.”

The seconds pass as the lights play around them and Aram asks the question he feels certain he already has the answer to. “Before he left, Agent Ressler gave me the note you wrote. It’s for Mr. Reddington, isn’t it?”

It is too much as the emotion closes in. She can only nod and swipe away the tear that escapes, feeling the pressure increase every moment.

“I’ll make sure he gets it.”

She is trying desperately to calm down, to steady her breathing but something is wrong. It is then she hears the Director’s voice.

“Just the man I’m looking for,” he says to Aram. “One of my technicians figured out why the code box doesn’t work.”

“I’m having trouble breathing,” she whispers and watches as Aram looks from her to the Director and back again.

“What’s happening to her?”

“I’m sure I don’t know, perhaps losing oxygen in there. I’m sorry but we don’t have the door code.”

He walks away, his mocking tone echoing in the cavernous hall. She is left gasping for air, more so every second. It makes no sense until…

“Nitrogen,” Aram exclaims, moving around the box. “They’re pumping nitrogen through the vents.

The pinpoints of black are growing larger as she leans over, hearing Aram from a distance now as his panic increases.

“Are you guys just going to watch this happen? Do something!”

The impact with the floor knocks whatever air is left from her body and she tries to focus as he kneels in front of her, separated by the glass entombing her.

“Oh my god, Liz, I have to let you out.”

A shake of her head but she cannot make a sound. No way to stop the anguish in his expression or the tears that come. Nothing she can do as the blackness closes in.

The rain and wind are whipping around her and she wonders how she got here, to the beach house where they escaped for those few stolen days.  Where they made the promise.

_Tell me when everything is finally over we’ll do this again. Find a place a disappear._

_We will._

_And I will tell you I love you._

_And I will say the same, Elizabeth. I love you._

The memory she gave him in the note and when he reads it, he will know where to find her.

_Promise me, we will do this again._

_I promise you, a thousand times again._

Where she will wait until he comes and closing her eyes, she rests in the darkness at last.

* * *

It is jarring when she is pulled back to the box. To the cold and steel and chaos of voices.

Everything is spinning and she reaches for Aram, fearing she will be swept away. There is hardly time to fill her lungs with air before she is forced to her feet. The wrist and leg cuffs are replaced and she leans over gagging on the nausea until they drag her toward the door.

So they will dispose of her elsewhere since the trick with the nitrogen failed to do the job.

Steps from the elevator and suddenly the only thing standing between the Director killing her is Aram. She watches him pull his weapon as everything slows.

“I won’t let you take her.

“Aram, put the gun down. They’ll shoot you without thinking twice."

“I don’t care.”

“But, I do. You’ve done enough.”

“No I haven’t,” he breathes out, every part of him shaking as he trains the gun on the Director. “I told Ressler you were in West Virginia. I opened the door.”

“Agent Mojtabai, stand down.”

But she needs him focused on herself and not the Director. “Aram. Aram, look at me,” and when he finally glances toward her, she continues. “I don’t blame you. None of this is your fault, don’t ever think that it is. Please put the gun down.”

Please, not another life lost to this horror. Even at the end, she doesn’t think she could bear it.

She lowers her head as soon as his weapon goes down and the chaos of voices returns.

_Excuse me but where do you think you are taking this young lady?_

Unbelievably they are prevented from dragging her onto the elevator by Cynthia Panabaker and a few minutes later Ressler arrives to escort her to the courthouse.

But it is to Aram that she walks.

Her friend that she kisses on the cheek and whispers the words that will never be enough.

_Thank you._

* * *

Raymond knows every detail of the events inside the Post Office.

They were relayed to him by those within his employ shortly thereafter, when he could do nothing but listen to what she had endured as the pain sliced through him. There was no time to stop or attempt to get word to her as he waited for his meeting with the Venezuelan Foreign Minister.

The muscle clenching in his jaw was the only outward sign of the turmoil within, but as the helicopter descended, he forced a smile to his face. Forced every muscle to relax as he focused only on the next few minutes.

But that was hours ago and he is finally alone with his thoughts.

There is only one final piece to be obtained but that will come the next day. Now that Dembe has been released and Elizabeth is out of the blacksite, he feels the loss flow over him. How close it came again, just the same as the hanger and the knife moving above her body. Each time the recovery is that much more difficult as the wounds cut deeper.

They will very shortly meet to plan the last phase of their attack, the last gamble he can make to save her life. He could not attempt it without this solitary walk. That it happens to be a cemetery is a mere coincidence but fitting nonetheless. With muttered instructions for Dembe to place a call to Aram, he had left the Mercedes to walk the quiet night.

It is to the open grave he happened upon that he finally stops. It is here that he waits for the one that he now owes everything.

_Come closer, Aram._

_Why did you ask me to meet you at an empty grave?_

He has no idea how to explain. How do you describe loss or what it is to be saved from it?

_There are foundational elements in our lives. People that form the brick and mortar of who we are. People that are so deeply imbedded that we take their existence for granted until suddenly, they’re not there._

Raymond glances down into the darkness before him.

_And we collapse into rubble. I’ve stood over the open grave of someone I’ve loved too often. Once for my mother, and then the others. I needed to recall this feeling because I’d be staring at another body right now if not for you, Aram._

As he looks back and struggles to finish what he must say.

_It wasn’t weakness that prevented you from watching your friend die today. It was hope, and thank heavens you were in a hopeful mood. You saved Elizabeth. I’m forever in your debt._

He walks around Aram, turning his back on the image of her there, no longer able to stay near the grave.

“Mr. Reddington.”

He stops to wait for Aram to join him and when he does, it is with a piece of paper outstretched toward him.

“She wanted you to have this.”

The briefest hesitation before taking it and tilting it toward the light.

_A thousand times again_

“She requested to write out her Last Will and Testament,” Aram says quietly.

He nods, not yet able to raise his eyes from the words before him. He can see the trembling there, how her body must have shaken as she wrote them. The fear that overwhelmed her at every turn and it was to the beach house she retreated. The memory of that early morning that gave her solace and what she gives to him now.

The note is folded and he slips it into the pocket over his heart and clears his throat before speaking.

“Thank you.”

Not nearly enough, but it is all that he has.

* * *

The call comes late or actually very early, but he is not asleep.

There is a glass of scotch untouched at his side as he sits in the dimness of his room. His body needs rest, but it is his mind that keeps him up and thinking of what is to come. His soul that won’t allow him to lie down in the empty bed.

His heart that squeezes tighter when he recognizes Ressler’s number.

“What has happened?”

“Raymond, it’s me. Everything is fine.”

“Elizabeth.”

He closes his eyes, wanting only the sound of her voice, like a balm to every part of him that aches from missing her.

“Where are you?”

“Still in the holding cell at the courthouse. I apparently have trouble sleeping on a steal bed or maybe it’s because you’re not here.”

“I seem to be having the same trouble.”

“Good,” and she smiles hearing him chuckle.

She continues but after a few words that are too low for him to understand he interrupts, “Lizzy, I can barely hear you. Are you sure everything is alright?”

“Ressler is asleep outside the cell,” she whispers, a little louder.

“Then how are you calling?”

“I palmed his phone.”

“My god, I love you.”

It is her turn to laugh softly at his declaration and she relaxes back before continuing. “So tell me about your day, dear.”

He wants to know how she is, how she really is. He wants to gather her close even if it is only with his words, to have her tell him everything he already knows. All the pain of what this day has brought her, but this is not what she needs, not tonight, and so he matches the lightness of her tone.

“Lizzy, you will be happy to learn we recovered the printing plates for the one hundred dollar bill and they are just as lovely as I remember. Honestly, instead of secreting them away all this time, I should have taken them out for a spin and-”

“Okay, enough of that. How did you get them back?”

“Well, since Samar is recently unemployed, I recruited her to help me and the boys stage a drug bust. One with quite a sizable amount of cocaine. Lucky I had some on hand and it worked like a charm. The FBI came to retrieve the drugs, Samar retrieved the briefcase just in time for my meeting with the Foreign Minister. Venezuela seems on board with the whole thing and now we only have to kidnap the Director tomorrow.”

There is silence on the other end and he already knows the reason why.

“Now, Lizzy, before you—”

“I can’t believe I missed all that,” she mutters.

“When you’ve staged one drug bust you’ve staged them all, I assure you.”

“That’s my point, Reddington, I’ve never staged a drug bust! Meanwhile you and Samar—”

She is teasing, or mostly teasing and he interjects quite seriously. “For me, there’s just no fun in it unless you’re there.”

“Good,” she reiterates and smiles at his old line. “I suppose I should go and let you try to sleep.”

“Only if you will do the same.”

“I will. Goodnight, Raymond.”

“Lizzy, wait," he says suddenly, before she can end the call. “I have the note.”

She pauses a moment before replying, “I’m glad. Save it for me until I see you again alright?”

For the first time he hears the emotion in her voice, just under the surface.

“I will,” he murmurs. “Aram was kind enough to bring it to the cemetery earlier.”

“Wait, why did you—”

“It was very near where we all gathered to go over the plan for tomorrow and I had him meet me there first. He seemed a little nervous until I explained I only wanted to thank him for saving my life.”

“But he saved _my_ life,” she whispers, trying to keep up with all he is telling her.

“They are one and the same.” And because he doesn’t want her to hear the trace of fear that remains he goes on rather quickly. “If everything works as planned, the next time we speak will be to negotiate your release.”

“Then I’ll talk to you later today.” Something to hold onto, this life they now share. She wonders if she could possibly love him more.

“You will, Elizabeth. That’s a promise.”


	43. Reckoning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve saved a few remarks till the end so before this one is completed, I wanted to make sure to send out some thanks. 
> 
> First, to JB whose interview ramblings during the Dark Times aka daddygate inspired this whole project. And I’ll include the writer’s room here since I’ve used a good bit of their beautiful dialogue to tell this story.
> 
> Second, to my pal TravelingSong for putting up with my own ramblings, keeping me on track and editing these many chapters. I am truly grateful my friend.
> 
> Third, much gratitude to all who have read and left comments along the way. Hope you enjoy this last chapter and the epilogue to follow. 
> 
> Timeline: 3.10

_All we need is hope_  
_And for that we have each other_  
_We will rise_

* * *

Raymond has returned to the secret apartment.

There was nowhere else he could imagine passing the long night, this last vigil, before the confrontation awaiting him. The one decades in the making. Strange that it might never have come to this. Peter might have lived out his days never paying for his crimes had he not chosen to lash out.

Even before the surrender, Raymond did not seek this war. With Fitch standing between them all those years, backed by the agreement struck when the betrayal first occurred, he retreated and let Peter live. A choice that allowed his daughter and wife to survive. The same for Sam and Lizzy secreted away in Nebraska.

No, it never would have come to this. Even when he personally sent Carla into hiding after being taken by Berlin, his need for revenge would have gone unquenched allowing Jennifer to remain in obscurity. To keep the hope alive that she has somehow carved out a life for herself in her anonymity. He will not intrude upon it, but there is no longer any other choice but to deal with Peter as he wanted to when this sordid tale began.

It will end today one way or another.

He rises from the chair, with the scotch still untouched on the table next to it, and walks from his darkened bedroom to the sitting room. Lizzy had wanted him to rest after their phone call only a short while ago but it seems impossible tonight. With silent movements so as not to disturb Dembe asleep in his room, he switches on the reading lamp and approaches the bookshelf. There he takes the photograph of Katarina and Masha and places it on the table.

It was found on the beach at Cape May, lying atop her clothes, something he realizes Lizzy doesn’t know. It must have been in Katarina’s home and a favorite since the image was enlarged and framed. There wasn’t much time to gather her belongings after Peter betrayed her but she took this memory. The anger flares still to this day. How he and Sam were unable to save her. These three unlikeliest of friends that fought to the bitter end and were soundly beaten.

Whatever she managed to take from the home she shared with her husband and child, this photograph was all that made it to the beach before she walked into the water. He arrived too late to intervene but kept this last possession, feeling the need to safeguard what was precious to her. Understanding the loss of a child. The devastating separation that would ensure their safety, the pain of which was second only to a death. Like her, he also has a few mementos of his family gathered in haste by Sam. Specific items that were retrieved the night his car was returned to make it appear he abandoned his family. He pulls the attaché case from the cabinet under the bookcase and places it on the table.

It hasn’t been opened in years and he hesitates to do so now. He stands for several minutes with his hands simply resting over the top while his fingers brush the worn leather, recalling his father carrying it to and from work everyday. Inside is all that remains of his family except the memories he visits when his strength allows. The last remnants of his parent’s life together, a favorite book he and Jennifer would read before bedtime, a toy she loved and a handful of photos. Astonishing that a life could be reduced to this, but so it was. Even now he cannot bring himself to hold the evidence of it in his hands, not when he is fighting for the one to come. Unsnapping the latch, he opens the lid only enough to slip Katarina’s photograph inside and quickly closes it.

With a last glance around the room, he goes to the chair and props his feet on the ottoman. Perhaps he will be able to sleep out here for he is certain he would not be able to in his empty bed. His thoughts are too full of Lizzy, his heart hurting every moment from her absence.

A few hours from now he will exit this apartment that has been the repository of his treasures, but take only the clothes on his back and the case now resting on the table. For the second time in his life he senses the certainty of leaving everything behind him, only this time not by force but by choice.

* * *

_Oyez. Oyez. All rise. This court is now in session. Calling United States vs. Elizabeth Keen._

She has survived long enough to reach her arraignment and the shock of that simple fact is disconcerting as she is marched into court. The shackles remain in place, cutting into her wrists, but she gives no sign of her discomfort when the charges are read out. Sixteen counts of capital murder and she stands to listen as the names are listed one by one. First the fourteen CIA agents killed in the bombing, Senator Hawkins and finally Thomas Connelly. Sixteen ways for her to receive the death penalty, aside from the treason and espionage charges leveled against her. Yes, The Cabal has done its job very well.

If the plan fails, she will be killed long before the state can do it, of that she is convinced. Somewhere right now, Liz imagines the Director and Laurel Hitchin are already plotting another attempt on her life. She can feel it drawing closer, as each name impacts her. Others who The Cabal decimated with a snap of a finger. All except Connelly. That one is rightfully hers but even now she can’t muster much regret. Her only solace, if this should be her last day, is that Raymond will not be witness to it as he would have been in the hanger. For that one thing she is grateful.

Cooper is waiting when she is returned from court and her steps falter seeing him there. The memory of the shooting immediately rushes back, his words urging her to run. Words that saved her life, allowing her to reach Raymond. She fights to control her emotions as the restraints are removed before she is once more locked in the cell.

He speaks first to Ressler in hushed tones. Explains that Karakurt is in the next cell block and the agreement has been made to transfer the prisoners to Camp Meade for their safety.

It isn’t until Ressler has left to see about the security arrangements and they are alone that Cooper addresses her directly. “I’m sorry it has come to this, Elizabeth.”

“I am too, Sir. I never meant you to be…”

But she can’t finish. Cannot speak the words that would acknowledge his title and rank that have been stripped from him.

“I know that.” He rests his hand over hers for a second where it grips the bar, before taking a seat and waits for her to do the same. “So tell me who came up with the idea to kidnap the Director?”

It makes her laugh, something she couldn’t imagine doing in her present circumstances. “I’ll give you one guess.”

“It’s a good plan,” he says with a smile. “He told me how long you worked on it.”

Of course Raymond would give her credit for her part and she looks down at her hands clenched together in her lap. It is overwhelming, this longing for him, made all the more difficult to bear in the confines of the cell.

“I would love to have been there to see the look on the Director’s face, but after doing my part in drugging his wife’s coffee, it was time to deliver Karakurt to the courthouse,” and seeing her confusion when she looks up, he explains. “You had always planned to take him on a Wednesday at their regular appointment, but we had to move it up. Unfortunately that necessitated an anxiety attack for Mrs. Kotsiopulos.”

“We never intended to involve her,” she muses quietly.

“No permanent harm done I assure you. Certainly not the collateral damage that Karakurt wrought.”

“Sir, I don’t know how you were able to apprehend him, but I can’t thank you enough.”

“There is no need. It’s quite a story and one day I’ll tell you how he ended tied up in my garage,” he replies with a touch of pride. “It felt good to be back in the field.”

“Your garage?"

“Charlene gave me hell for about five minutes before I explained he could clear your name, then she gave him hell. Honestly he may be safer here than at home.”

She smiles, imagining it all in her mind as they lapse into silence. It is enough that they are here. That they can wait together for a little while as the plan is carried out. It is not the time to wonder if he might ever resume his command or if she will one day return.

But she feels that life slipping away.

There aren’t many certainties she has remaining to hold to. Her love for Raymond. Her gratitude to Aram, Cooper and Samar whom she would count as friends. Yet there is another that she won’t give voice to today. She knows she will never again enter the Post Office, cannot comprehend ever desiring to return to the place where she almost died.

Perhaps Cooper senses it. He has seen numerous agents come and go in his time, though none so spectacularly as herself. Maybe this is the reason he sought her out, not knowing what will come….after. The question won’t be asked but after Ressler has returned, she rises as he takes his leave.

“Director Cooper,” she says, using the title that should rightfully be his. “I’ll never be able to thank you, but I do. It has been an honor to work with you.”

“And you as well, Agent Keen.” The emotion is heavy in his voice and with a nod, he turns and walks away.

Fitting, she thinks, that he would be the last to call her that.

* * *

_I love magic._

Indeed. Raymond recalls Aram's words as the jet lifts off and immediately turns east toward the international waters over the Atlantic. Their smoke and mirrors trick as Lizzy had called it. A vanishing act in two parts and considering the last minute changes, immensely entertaining. Also immensely successful considering The Director was, at that moment, asleep in the next room.

They’ve known for months they would have to take him.

They’ve also known it would be anything but easy. Ever since Raymond delivered Luther Braxton back to the Director in his home, security has increased tenfold. In the end, it was Elizabeth that conceived the plan of duplicating the therapist’s office.

_Lizzy, you realize I’d have to buy a whole floor in this building just to have the access and privacy to double the hallway and the doctor’s waiting room?_

_What’s your point?_

He had laughed, not really having one, he supposed. Just thinking out loud and a few weeks later the purchase was made. She had the kidnapping choreographed like a dance. Knowing the unhappy couple had a set appointment every Wednesday, they would do it then. With one agent waiting in the lobby, that left the other to escort his subject to the floor and from there the Director would naturally go into the therapist’s office alone.

_The wife gets off at the sixth floor as usual while our guy is diverted to the eighth. He enters, Baz drugs him and we take him down in the service elevator while his agent is out front reading a magazine. Easy._

_And you’re thinking Aram will be agreeable to help in hacking the elevator car?_

_Raymond, he wants this to end. He’ll do it._

She was so certain and of course she was right. What they could not foresee was her capture that forced them to move up the schedule. His idea to slip an anxiety inducing drug into the wife’s coffee enabled them to carry out Lizzy’s plan. Not what they had wanted but necessary nonetheless.

He smiles in spite of himself. There will be time to tell her the details later, how he wanted her there with him. Time for everything once she is safe and a deal agreed upon so they can leave that godforsaken city behind them. At least for as long as she would want....

It is then that their guest of honor stumbles into the cabin and the mask slips firmly into place again.

“Peter! Welcome back. Boy, you were out. Like carrying a bag of boulders.”

“What the hell have you done?”

And so it begins.

The greatest of all games and this one with his oldest and deadliest adversary. And what other way to begin than with the setting of the rules. Peter stares in disbelief as the Foreign Minister of Venezuela advises him of his arrest while Reddington lays out their travel plans to The Hague where he will be tried for war crimes and crimes against humanity in violation of the Geneva Convention and international law.

“Oh my god,” he whispers.

“Oh, your God can’t help you now, Peter.”

“This is an act of war. My government will never let it stand.”

“Precisely what I’m counting on,” Raymond replies with a smile as he sits at the conference table to dial the phone. The call is answered immediately and he waves for Peter to take a seat. “Raymond Reddington calling for Laurel. She’ll know what it’s about.”

Somehow he has always foreseen it playing out this way as opposed to a bomb or bullet. He has escaped those too many times to think that would really be the final act. This game of wits seems appropriate since it was Peter that outmaneuvered him all those years ago. That was the greatest blow, not the attempts on his life that came after. As he begins coming to terms with Laurel, there is the fleeting image of himself, Sam and Katarina. How they tried to defeat the hydra but were scattered like ashes when everything burned.

With all the bravado he can summon, he continues to play the part. “Laurel, here’s where we stand. Upon the landing of this jet, the Director will be taken into custody and the global spectacle of a high-ranking American official charged with war crimes will begin.”

“What do you want?” she asks, her annoyance evident even over the speaker.

“What I’ve wanted since the beginning. For you to exonerate Elizabeth Keen.”

“No.”

“Fine, but I suggest you turn on your television. Karakurt, the real killer of those agents and the good Senator, is now in custody. You can keep fighting this losing battle and look exceedingly foolish in the process or take this offer and the accolades of capturing the real culprit. Of course my offer will get considerably less generous if anything should happen to Elizabeth Keen. You’ll call me back.”

He hits the button to end the call and looks toward the Director. “Relax, Peter. The games are afoot as they say.”

* * *

Liz hoped it wouldn’t come to this. That somehow the deal would be struck and she’d be released directly from the courthouse. Even now she has no idea if the kidnapping was actually successful.

There is no more time.

Ressler is intent on transferring her to Camp Meade and still convinced he can keep her safe. She is barely breathing as they lead her through the maze of hallways. US Marshals line the corridors and everyone is a stranger to her. Every agent a possible Cabal operative while she is unarmed and shackled. Helpless. There is a prickling at the nape of her neck. Something terrible is coming for her and with a glance up the stairs they are climbing she sees it.

The slight movement as a Marshal reaches for his gun and she is already dropping to her knees when the bullet passes overhead and Ressler yells out a warning.

The courthouse erupts in chaos.

* * *

“Laurel, I hope you’re calling with good news."

“Your girl just got a temporary reprieve. Hypothetically, what kind of terms are you looking for?”

“My attorney, Marvin Gerard, should be arriving right about now. Let’s make a deal.”

Back and forth and on it goes. The mask never slips, not even as the cold knot forms in his stomach.  _Temporary reprieve._ From what, he can only guess. How close Lizzy came to whatever was planned he will not know until later and he sits quietly while Marvin does what he does best, but his hand grips the armrest until there is pain that he can concentrate on. Whatever it takes to focus his attention on the negotiations.

Back and forth.

A sound of the rustling of papers comes over the speaker as Marvin peruses the agreement. All of his demands are there except for one. She will have to plead guilty to the killing of Tom Connelly. An involuntary manslaughter charge and parole. The loss of her badge.

As the smug grin of the Director looks on.

The time has come for a separation of the players. Raymond moves to the next room for a private conversation with Marvin and then with Laurel. To Marvin he accepts the terms and to Laurel he waits for what he has already anticipated. It is as he expected. They will use Peter as the fall guy and the irony of that thought…...but that is for later.

There are one or two demands of his own and finally it is done. He has no wish to return to the conference room and waits alone, with only the sound of the engines for company. Waiting for Lizzy to call. Wondering where his jet will carry them once she is free.

* * *

Marvin hands her the document through the steel bars of her holding cell where she has been returned following the attempt on her life and she begins to read.

“This is official? They’re willing to say I’m innocent?”

“Yes and publicly.”

She is numb as Marvin explains the document. Her exoneration on all the charges save one. A guilty plea for the Connelly shooting. The meaning is clear but she says it anyway, needing to hear it in her own voice.

“They’re taking away my badge. If I sign this I’ll never be an agent again.”

It is not a question. She has always known there would be no easy answers at the end of all this. No clear direction for the future.

“No,” Ressler says. “But the task force would continue. Cooper will be cleared and put back in charge. You can keep working with Reddington, assisting the government as an asset we employ, not as an active agent.”

A restoration of some of what was lost but she is more than aware that some losses cannot be put right. At least not in the way they were before the break.

“Here, this is for you.” Ressler dials a number on his phone and passes it to her.

She walks to the other end of the cell as the emotion rises again. Turns her back when she hears his voice, afraid she will break down.

“Lizzy, have you seen the deal? It’s not everything we wanted, but it’s close. You’ll be safe. You’ll be free.”

“But I won’t be an agent.”

It doesn’t seem real until that moment when she says it to him and something inside reaches a resolution, settles it in her mind, allowing her to take a deep breath. Not an easy answer but an answer all the same.

“I told you some time ago, when you pulled that trigger, you crossed a threshold. You stepped from your world into mine.”

She closes her eyes and lets his voice soothe her. Another threshold is before them and some things simply will not go with them.

“I wish I could deliver the perfect outcome, but I’m afraid—”

“No,” she interjects quickly. “This is fair.”

“Fairness is overrated. There are ways to get you all the way back, but for now, sign the deal.”

She smiles, wishing there wasn’t an audience behind her, preventing her from saying all the things that she wants. That the  _way back_ isn’t as important as the way forward.

“Raymond, when will….how will they…”

“It will happen soon. I’ll be waiting.”

That’s all she needs.

“I know you will,” she whispers before disconnecting and turning back to Marvin, her lawyer and Ressler waiting to hear her answer. The only answer she has. The only one that matters.

“Got a pen?”

* * *

There is some satisfaction in watching Laurel Hitchin’s press conference extolling the innocence of Elizabeth Keen while triumphing in the capture of the assassin known as Karakurt. Hearing the US government acknowledge the existence of The Cabal to which Tom Connelly belonged even though Laurel herself is a member and today has gained considerable more power. But that is a fight for later.

And then she lands the final blow.

_We have to now face the hard truth there are enemies of America within our own ranks. In fact, just a short time ago, I learned that the Director of Clandestine Services of the CIA, Peter Kotsiopulos, is also part of this conspiracy and has apparently fled the country._

As reality sinks in on the aforementioned, Mr. Kotsiopulos, Raymond switches off the television and turns to face his old adversary.

“Hello, Peter.”

The mask is gone. The game is completed.

The Foreign Minister of Venezuela takes his leave having done his part in exchange for the currency printing plates. They are alone now as the years have caught up with them both.

“I know what she is to you, Raymond. Why you did this.”

Another circle completed as Peter brings forth what is most dear to him, just as he did at the beginning of it all when his family was used against him. It matters not. Whatever Peter and even Solomon have guessed about their relationship is immaterial to what will happen this day.

“I can’t think of even one set of circumstances in which that would be any of your business,” he returns quietly and continues a moment later, wanting to be done with it. “ _Enemies within our own ranks_. Well, that part was true enough, wasn’t it?”

“What do you know of truth, Reddington? Please spare me your judgement on my past actions, especially considering what yours have been.”

His eyes narrow at the words. There will be no remorse, nor is it expected. But judgement? That is an entirely different matter.

“As it happens, this isn’t my judgement day, but yours. And as for truth, there is one fundamental principle I adhere to.  _An eye for an eye._ Have you heard of it? It’s quite catchy. Now if I remember correctly the good book warned against this ideology—”

“Are you going to preach me a sermon now?”

He chuckles dismissively at the thought. “Dear me, a sermon? I should say not. I am not a religious man and have found little to be gained by turning the other cheek as they say.”

“What is your point, Reddington?”

“My point is this. I can’t very well take from you what you so easily took from me or the countless others whose lives you destroyed. Therefore there really is only one outcome I can see in all of this.”

“And that is?”

“Do you know how she died, Peter?” Raymond asks offhandedly. “After she lost her husband and child. Her country. When she was hunted across the globe. Did that intelligence ever make it back to you?”

There is no answer, prompting him to go on thoughtfully, “You know in that respect we were not that different, she and I. Such similar losses. I’ve often wondered why I lived and she did not and to this day I have no answer for it.”

“Katarina—”

“You will not speak her name or anyone else’s for that matter,” Raymond interrupts sharply and then draws in a slow breath. “Be that as it may, since there are far too many debts for you to ever repay, I’ve decided that you will repay hers.”

“And how am I—”

It is time to be done with it as he feels the jet bank softly to the right. He leans forward, bringing his hands together to rest on the table.

“You never answered the question. If you knew how she died. She walked into the water. There was simply nowhere left to run, you see. The same place you now find yourself and so I think it fitting that you do the same.”

“What are you going to do, hurl me from the plane?” he asks disdainfully, still not seeing how it will be.

Raymonds voice is laced with steel as he delivers the final verdict. “Peter, I’ve just explained how you are to make amends to Katarina and by extension her daughter. A tit for tat. An eye for an eye. Call it what you will. You will walk into the water.”

As the jet begins its slow descent toward the open waters of the Atlantic beneath them. Fitting that it should be the same fathomless depths that claimed his friend.

* * *

It’s quiet now as Lizzy awaits her release from jail. They told her it would take place one minute after midnight. Some old tradition still adhered to, but she is glad for it. A chance to make her exit in peace, away from the press and crowds that were gathered outside all day.

One minute after midnight.

A new day and she smiles at her own sentimentality, pleased there is still part of her that can appreciate the symbolism of a fresh start after what has occurred. Not only for herself but for them both and perhaps….

Her thoughts are interrupted by footsteps approaching and she glances at the clock on the wall. Just after eleven which is too early for the guard. The door to her cell has been left open as these final hours were a formality and she steps out to see Aram walking toward her.

He doesn’t stop until he has hugged her tightly and said in a rather shaky voice, “Thank god.”

Liz waits for him to pull back and they both laugh as the tension of the day lessons. With a tug at his sleeve, she pulls him into the cell to wait with her, suddenly glad for the company.

“And I’ll say thank you too,” she adds with a smile. “It’s not everyone that would agree to help kidnap the Director of Clandestine Services.”

“What are friends for?”

He says it in that joking way of his but the words find their mark. He  _is_  her friend and a better one than she has been to him.

“Aram, thank you.” Quietly this time. Earnestly wanting him to know how grateful she is.

“You don’t have to…..that is to say, anyone could have….well, you’re welcome….Liz.”

She laughs softly and reaches out to pat his arm. Something inside begins to hurt realizing how very much she will miss him.

"Is it over?”

“What?” she asks, not having heard him.

“The Cabal?”

“No. They are damaged but far from over.”

She couldn’t agree more with his audible sigh, knowing how much there is left to do.

“I was worried they would release you early. That…”

He trails off, searching for the words to finish and she wonders if he was simply concerned about where she would go from here. She is essentially homeless after all and is on the verge of reassuring him when he continues.

“I’m glad I got the chance to say goodbye.”

“Where are you going?” she asks in confusion.

When he smiles she does the same, realizing she had not caught his meaning. He somehow knew….but how could he when there is so much uncertainty about her future even to herself? Because not everything happens on a computer screen and for the first time she understands how much she underestimated him.

“How did you know I wouldn’t come back to the Post Office?”

“I wasn’t sure….not for certain. But in case you don’t I wanted to tell you not to be a stranger. Don’t drift away, alright?”

“I won’t,” she returns softly, as the tears approach and she blinks them away. 

“I guess they’ll be coming for you soon so maybe I should….”

He points in the general direction of the exit and rises to walk out into the corridor. Liz follows and this time it is she that pulls him into a hug before stepping back to lean against the bars.

“Aram, no matter what happens, the task force will continue. It is imperative that is does, now more than ever. I’ve told Leonard Caul to make contact with you. He can help you bring down The Cabal.”

“Wait, what? You mean the guy from….”

“Yes, from after the shooting. And I know what you’re thinking, but he’s not that scary. A little intense but really very nice once you get to know him. I think he’ll make an excellent CI.”

“Um, if you say so.”

“But he won’t come to the Post Office. Actually he will probably only speak with you.”

They laugh again at the strange circuitous route that has brought them back to this. With a little wave he turns to leave but only makes it a step or two before she sees him hesitate.

“Tell Mr. Reddington goodbye. Tell him…”

“What?”

“Well, the same really.”

Don’t be a stranger. Don’t drift too far.

“I will, Aram, I promise.”

He smiles, dipping his head slightly. “Oh, and by the way, I hacked the feed to all the security cameras within a twelve block radius of the courthouse. I figured you might want….that.”

A peaceful exit. A private reunion with the one that will be waiting and she shakes her head in wonder as her friend waves for the final time and disappears around the corner.

* * *

One minute after midnight.

There are many things they will never remember. The chill in the air. The profound exhaustion that would linger for days. The trace of fear that would do the same.

They will only remember the cloudless night and the quiet of the city as it slept. Her smile when she saw him as the bus passed by. How he stood up straighter when she began striding toward him.

He’ll recall wanting to walk to meet her but being rooted to the spot. She will often think that no words could ever make her feel as loved as that simple act of waiting for her, standing at attention by the car. He will tell her later that he made Dembe circle the block for an hour while he watched every minute go by on his watch. She will lightheartedly confess she was as nervous as her first date before she saw him there and he will chuckle at the image it evokes.

He will tell her everything she wants or needs to hear. About Peter and the final words that were spoken, but in the end all she really wants him to say is  _it is done._ And she will do the same. When he explains that one day a pardon will be issued with a return of her badge. The conversation with Laurel assuring him it would occur. Lizzy will nod but the smile that follows will be bittersweet.  _It is done._ He wants her to be sure and, yes, so does she. A promise to think about it, but for now….

_Where shall we go?_

_Where do you want to go?_

_Somewhere warm with lots of sky._

_And the sea perhaps?_

_Perfect._

But that is days from now. A week or two from this  _new_  day as she reaches him and they take hold. Eyes closed to the world around them. He doesn’t let go as her hands drop down and slip around to his back to pull him closer. She is trembling or is that his own reaction to finally feeling her there in his arms?

“We’re okay,” he whispers into her hair.

Words for both of them and she believes them. However long it takes. Whatever distance they must travel, it will be so.

She pulls back first, only as far as his arms will allow. “I missed you.”

He nods at her words that perfectly sum up every emotion he as felt since being separated from her. Such a simple thing, really. How nothing seems right anymore without the other.

But when she leans forward a fraction, he shakes his head. “Lizzy, wait.”

A glance behind her. Cautious even on an empty street.

“You don’t have to worry. Aram hacked the cameras,” she murmurs and smiles when he glances back in surprise. “I think he’s onto us. He said to tell you—“

“Tell me later.”

It is there in his voice that drops to a low rumble. The urgency. The need that wouldn’t let him go in her absence. His hands come up to cup her face and he pauses a moment, studying her.

“Raymond.”

Only a whisper, but the same need is there guiding him the rest of the way. He kisses her softly, quiet like the night surrounding them. Expectantly with the promise of their future and when he pulls back, a tear falls that he brushes away from her cheek.

He sees them now, the cracks in her composure. How much it has taken from her to hold herself together these last days. The grief that will be there in the ones to come, mixing with this love they have found in each other. She will be okay, he will make sure of it, and there is a smile knowing she will do the same for him. Her body relaxes and he runs his hands down until they find her own. They are ready.

“Hello, Dembe,” she says a little louder, not taking her eyes off of Raymond.

“Welcome home, Elizabeth.”

A squeeze of her hands and another tear. But there is her beautiful smile and he is home as well.

“Dembe, that is an excellent notion,” he replies for her, sensing she would not be able. “Let’s go home, shall we? Now Elizabeth, in lieu of actually having an address I thought we might return to the mansion for a day or so. Then when you’re ready we can decide where to go from there. I think it’s safe to say a nice holiday is in order. Perhaps we can make a list. We still have the whiteboards after all and…”

With a smile, she steps back, allowing him to open the car door. They settle in for the ride through the city and she is soon lost in the sound of his voice.

_And then something new will begin._

A promise from long ago. Something for someday and at last it is here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been asked a few times to continue this fic past 3.10 but I’m choosing to call it a day because it doesn’t get better than that Sixteen Candles ending. From there, Red and Lizzy can go anywhere or nowhere or wherever we all imagine. The definition of a happy ever after. The epilogue to follow is my vision for them and I’ll choose that over 3.11 anyday. Cheers.


	44. Uncharted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline: Ever After

_I had a dream last night_  
_And when I opened my eyes_  
_Your shoulder blade, your spine_  
_Were shorelines in the moonlight_  
_New worlds for the weary_  
_New lands for the living_  
_I could make it if I tried_  
_I closed my eyes I kept on swimming_

* * *

She finds that she needs the morning air more and more. The rocking of the ocean that used to lull her back to sleep if she woke early, now has the opposite effect. It propels her out of bed and with a last look at his sleeping form, she goes up on deck. To breathe. To close her eyes and settle down within herself searching for a stillness beyond the nausea that lingers. Something that doesn’t come easily of late.

There is a shuffling around below and she smiles without opening her eyes. Waiting. This is their new routine.

He knows just where she will be. Standing against the wind, in whatever direction it is blowing. So quiet. Immovable. Until his arms wrap around from behind as they always do and she leans back as if she needs his steadiness. Every morning the same.

“How are we today?” he murmurs close to her ear.

“A little wobbly.”

A kiss where she felt his breath on her neck, his arms holding a little firmer before a hand moves to the swell of her belly.

“Elizabeth, you know what we must do.”

It’s not a question. She knows.

They’ve been lost at sea for awhile now. Both would have to stop and add up the weeks that turned into months to calculate the exact time and distance. More than a year but neither put a limit to it. It simply came to be. A natural progression from one port to the next. Something they found in the days following her release. The calm following the storm when they finally gave voice to what had sustained them. When, at last, it could be real. Sea and sky as far as the horizon. Not so difficult to find with the right sail and the wind at their backs.

And not so easy to move on from even when they should.

He’s been planning. It is what he does best. What he  _did_  best, he supposes is the correct tense. He once assisted the lost in staying that way and he will do so again only this time on dry land. Somewhere she isn’t as  _wobbly_. Where they will wait for their daughter.

“When you’re ready, I have a suggestion or two where we might hang our hats next.”

She laughs, immediately thinking of his fedoras that are tucked safely away, traded in for a rather beat up straw hat that is a close match to her own. Suddenly she finds she misses them as well as the three-piece suits that gave way to the loose linens he favors now.

And just then the little cafe comes to mind.

She hasn’t thought of it in ages. The lights burning gold and a toast to the future. In all this time they’ve never really had the chance to do that again, for real this time and not a pretense. Something so ordinary yet it never came back to them and she wonders if there is a place they might have both. Where the land meets the water and she wants to find it.

“Only two suggestions?”

“Or four,” he whispers as his thumb moves back and forth. “Maybe five.”

Always strategizing and she smiles as her hand rests over his, letting him calm her. Reminding herself they can find this peace again. That they will bring it with them.

She leads him to the seat and waits for him to sit before she does the same, drawing her legs up to rest against his thigh. This may take awhile and so she relaxes into the cushion facing him.

“Alright, I’m ready. Tell me.”

It comes easier than she thinks. He had no doubt this would be the way of it. Once she sets her mind to a thing….like the day she told him she wasn’t going back. He would have stayed for her and she knew it, but this is what they needed. The life that came after, not the one from before.

The task force still works at dismantling what remains of The Cabal and that will have to be enough. They did their part and paid with their lives. She will not seek a return of her badge and he will not attempt to locate his daughter. The final price to pay and the way they found to move forward even though the regret still finds them. The loss flows in like a current and they go where it takes them until it recedes. Until the next time his child comes to him in memory or Lizzy places a call to Aram, the friend who saved her life. These connections they want to keep alive even though they won’t return. It is what they realized that night in the street and the days that came after. Some lines can’t be crossed back over.

“Does it face east or west?” she asks as one particular property starts to take shape in her mind.

“West.”

“A sunset every evening then.”

“Yes.”

“And a place to moar the boat?” she asks quietly.

“Of course, Lizzy. It will be there waiting.”

It means as much to him as it does to her, this first home they shared. Unconventional to say the least but fitting for two ex-fugitives not yet ready for walls or stone. Who would rather have the silence of the water overhead as he taught her to dive. Where she taught him to let go and his empire crumbled into nothing, blown away as easily as the wind whipping through the sails. Where they stayed up to watch the stars and woke in the early afternoon to the sound of rainfall, tangled up in each other with the world to themselves. Where they made the decision to add one more.

And so it’s time to go. He waits for her as he has the last few weeks, sensing she needed a little time. Wanting to take it slow. He brushes a hand across her cheek before trailing it down her arm and he feels her lean in closer.

“And there’s a park close by?” The last question as she brings a hand to her belly.

He nods, not trusting his voice. Their thoughts return to the little theater, of what they each envisioned for the future. Difficult to imagine then, but now the years stretch out before them. The image comes to her so clearly as if it is already a memory. The three of them there, close enough to touch. No longer out of reach.

“It sounds like us,” she concludes, knowing the decision has been made.

“Very much like us.”

“Let’s leave right now.”

He laughs, already anticipating her. “Let’s get you some breakfast and check the weather and tides. I’ll call Mr. Kaplan to make the arrangements. Then perhaps we should head to the dock for supplies and—”

“Okay, okay,” she concedes with a smile. “I can’t wait, Raymond, for everything.”

He gathers her close, his  _everything_  right there within the circle of his arms. It still surprises. He knows it always will.

“Lizzy, I hate to say I told you so but…”

“What do you mean,” she asks, pulling back to look at him.

“This journey we’re on isn’t over just yet.”

She rolls her eyes as he chuckles and rests her head back on his chest, waiting for the kiss through her hair. There it is and the smile he always brings to her face. Some things never change. She knows they never will.

There is a difference between running and leaving. They understand this more than most. The terrible burden of the first and the unending promise of the second.


End file.
